THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 

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MK-  SWIVELLER  AND  THE  MARCHIONESS. 


THE 


OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP: 

AND 


REPRINTED  PIECES. 


By  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEW  YORK: 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  & CO.,  ' 

46  East  Fourteenth  St. 


CONTENTS 


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PAGE 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP  . 
REPRINTED  PIECES:  — 

• 

* 

* 

• 

1-159 

The  Long  Voyage  .... 

* • 

. 163 

The  Begging- Letter  Writer  . 

. 174 

A Child’s  Dream  of  a Star  . 

. 

. 183 

Our  English  Watering-Place 

. 187 

Our  French  Watering-Place 

. 197 

Bill-Sticking 

. 211 

“Births.  Mrs.  Meek,  of  a Son” 

. 225 

Lying  Awake 

. 230 

The  Poor  Relation’s  Story  . 

. 238 

The  Child’s  Story  .... 

. 249 

The  Schoolboy’s  Story  . 

. 254 

Nobody’s  Story  .... 

. 265 

The  Ghost  of  Art  .... 

. 271 

Out  of  Town 

. 279 

Out  of  the  Season  .... 

. 287 

A Poor  Man’s  Tale  of  a Patent  . 

. 296 

The  Noble  Savage  .... 

. 303 

A Flight 

. 310 

The  Detective  Police 

. 321 

Three  “Detective”  Anecdotes  . 

. 342 

IV 


CONTENTS . 


REPRINTED  PIECES,  continued  — 

PAGE 

On  Duty  with  Inspector  Eield  . 352 

Down  with  the  Tide 367 

A Walk  in  a Workhouse 378 

Prince  Bull.  A Fairy  Tale 386 

A Plated  Article 392 

Our  Honorable  Friend 402 

Our  School  409 

Our  Vestry 417 

Our  Bore 425 

A Monument  of  French  Folly 434 

A Christmas  Tree 447 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


VOL.  II. 


By  George  Cattermole,  H.  K.  Browne,  and  F.  Walker. 

PAGE 

Mr.  Swiyeller  and  the  Marchioness  ....  Frontispiece 
Kit,  Swiyeller,  and  Mr.  Chuckster  ......  5 

Mr.  Swiveller’s  Flute-practice 21 

Daniel  Quilp  at  the  Window 37 

Poor  Kit  in  Trouble 46 

The  Dwarf  keeping  his  Hand  in 53 

Mr.  Swiyeller  to  the  Rescue 64 

The  Marchioness  in  the  Sick  Room 69 

“God  bless  me!  what  is  this?” 81 

Restoratives 88 

Miss  Brass  at  Bay 91 

Washed  Ashore 108 

Whisker  and  Barbara 113 

Setting  out  on  the  Search  for  the  Fugitives  . . • . 120 

Her  Bird 131 

At  Rest 149 

Her  Grandfather  at  the  Grave 149 

The  Long  Voyage 171 

The  Schoolboy’s  Story 255 

A Poor  Man’s  Tale  of  a Patent 297 

Detective  Story  — “The  Sofa” 350 


v 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A day  or  two  after  the  Quilp  tea-party  at  the  Wilderness, 
Mr.  Swiveller  walked  into  Sampson  Brass’s  office  at  the  usual 
hour,  and  being  alone  in  that  Temple  of  Probity,  placed  his 
hat  upon  the  desk,  and  taking  from  his  pocket  a small  parcel 
of  black  crape,  applied  himself  to  folding  and  pinning  the 
same  upon  it,  after  the  manner  of  a hatband.  Having  com- 
pleted the  construction  of  this  appendage,  he  surveyed  his 
work  with  great  complacency,  and  put  his  hat  on  again  — very 
much  over  one  eye  to  increase  the  mournfulness  of  the  effect. 
These  arrangements  perfected  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  he 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  office  with  measured  steps. 

“ It  has  always  been  the  same  with  me,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller, 
“ always.  ’Twas  ever  thus,  from  childhood’s  hour  I’ve  seen 
my  fondest  hopes  decay,  I never  loved  a tree  or  flower  but 
’twas  the  first  to  fade  away ; I never  nursed  a dear  Gazelle, 
to  glad  me  with  its  soft  black  eye,  but  when  it  came  to 
know  me  well,  and  love  me,  it  was  sure  to  marry  a market- 
gardener.” 

Overpowered  by  these  reflections,  Mr.  Swiveller  stopped 
short  at  the  clients’  chair,  and  flung  himself  into  its  open 
arms. 

“ And  this,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  with  a kind  of  bantering 
composure,  “ is  life,  I believe.  Oh,  certainly.  Why  not ! 
I’m  quite  satisfied.  I shall  wear,”  added  Richard,  taking  off 
his  hat  again  and  looking  hard  at  it,  as  if  he  were  only  de- 
terred by  pecuniary  considerations  from  spurning  it  with  his 

VOL.  II — 1 


2 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


foot;  “ I shall  wear  this  emblem  of  woman’s  perfidy  in  remem- 
brance of  her  with  whom  I shall  never  again  thread  the  wind- 
ings of  the  mazy;  whom  I shall  never  more  pledge  in  the 
rosy ; who;  during  the  short  remainder  of  my  existence  will 
murder  the  balmy.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! ” 

It  may  be  necessary  to  observe,  lest  there  should  appear 
any  incongruity  in  the  close  of  this  soliloquy,  that  Mr. 
Swiveller  did  not  wind  up  with  a cheerful  hilarious  laugh, 
which  would  have  been  undoubtedly  at  variance  with  his 
solemn  reflections,  but  that,  being  in  a theatrical  mood,  he 
merely  achieved  that  performance  which  is  designated  in 
melo-dramas  “ laughing  like  a fiend,”  — for  it  seems  that 
your  fiends  always  laugh  in  syllables,  and  always  in  three 
syllables,  never  more  nor  less,  which  is  a remarkable  property 
in  such  gentry,  and  one  worthy  of  remembrance. 

The  baleful  sounds  had  hardly  died  away,  and  Mr.  Swiveller 
was  still  sitting  in  a very  grim  state  in  the  clients’  chair, 
when  there  came  a ring  — or,  if  we  may  adapt  the  sound  to 
his  then  humor,  a knell  — at  the  office  bell.  Opening  the 
door  with  all  speed,  he  beheld  the  expressive  countenance  of 
Mr.  Chuckster,  between  whom  and  himself  a fraternal  greet- 
ing ensued. 

“ You’re  devilish  early  at  this  pestiferous  old  slaughter- 
house,” said  that  gentleman,  poising  himself  on  one  leg,  and 
shaking  the  other  in  an  easy  manner. 

“ Rather,”  returned  Dick. 

“ Rather ! ” retorted  Mr.  Chuckster,  with  that  air  of  graceful 
trifling  which  so  well  became  him.  “ I should  think  so.  Why, 
my  good  feller,  do  you  know  what  o’clock  it  is  — half-past 
nine  a.m.  in  the  morning  ? ” 

“ Won’t  you  come  in?”  said  Dick.  “All  alone.  Swiveller 
solus.  * ’Tis  now  the  witching  — ’ ” 

“ ‘ Hour  of  night ! ’ ” 

“ c When  churchyards  yawn,’  ” 

“ c And  graves  give  up  their  dead.’  ” 

At  the  end  of  this  quotation  in  dialogue,  each  gentleman 
struck  an  attitude,  and  immediately  subsiding  into  prose, 
walked  into  the  office.  Such  morsels  of  enthusiasm  were 
common  among  the  Glorious  Apollos,  and  were  indeed  the 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


3 


links  that  bound  them  together,  and  raised  them  above  the 
cold  dull  earth. 

“Well,  and  how  are  you  my  buck?”  said  Mr.  Chuckster, 
taking  a stool.  “I  was  forced  to  come  into  the  city  upon 
some  little  private  matters  of  my  own,  and  couldn’t  pass 
the  corner  of  the  street  without  looking  in,  but  upon  my 
soul  I didn’t  expect  to  find  you.  It  is  so  everlastingly 
early.” 

Mr.  Swiveller  expressed  his  acknowledgments ; and  it  ap- 
pearing on  further  conversation  that  he  was  in  good  health, 
and  that  Mr.  Chuckster  was  in  the  like  enviable  condition, 
both  gentlemen,  in  compliance  with  a solemn  custom  of  the 
ancient  Brotherhood  to  which  they  belonged,  joined  in  a frag- 
ment of  the  popular  duet  of  “All’s  Well,”  with  a long  shake 
at  the  end. 

“ And  what’s  the  news  ? ” said  Bichard. 

“ The  town’s  as  flat,  my  dear  feller,”  replied  Mr.  Chuckster, 
“ as  the  surface  of  a Dutch  oven.  There’s  no  news.  By  the 
by,  that  lodger  of  yours  is  a most  extraordinary  person.  He 
quite  eludes  the  most  vigorous  comprehension,  you  know. 
Never  was  such  a feller  ! ” 

“ What  has  he  been  doing  now  ? ” said  Dick. 

“By  Jove,  sir,”  returned  Mr.  Chuckster,  taking  out  an 
oblong  snuff-box,  the  lid  whereof  was  ornamented  with  a fox’s 
head  curiously  carved  in  brass,  “ that  man  is  an  unfathomable. 
Sir,  that  man  has  made  friends  with  our  articled  clerk. 
There’s  no  harm  in  him,  but  he  is  so  amazingly  slow  and  soft. 
Now,  if  he  wanted  a friend,  why  couldn’t  he  have  one  that 
knew  a thing  or  two,  and  could  do  him  some  good  by  his  man- 
ners and  conversation.  I have  my  faults,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Chuck- 
ster— 

“No,  no,”  interposed  Mr.  Swiveller. 

“ Oh  yes  I have,  I have  my  faults,  no  man  knows  his  faults 
better  than  I know  mine.  But,”  said  Mr.  Chuckster,  “I’m 
not  meek.  My  worst  enemies  — every  man  has  his  enemies, 
sir,  and  I have  mine  — never  accused  me  of  being  meek.  And 
I tell  you  what,  sir,  if  I hadn’t  more  of  these  qualities  that 
commonly  endear  man  to  man,  that  our  articled  clerk  has,  I’d 
steal  a Cheshire  cheese,  tie  it  round  my  neck,  and  drown 


4 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


myself.  I’d  die  degraded,  as  I had  lived.  I would  upon  my 
honor.” 

Mr.  Chuckster  paused,  rapped  the  fox’s  head  exactly  on  the 
nose  with  the  knuckle  of  the  fore-finger,  took  a pinch  of  snuff, 
and  looked  steadily  at  Mr.  Swiveller,  as  much  as  to  say  that  if 
he  thought  he  was  going  to  sneeze,  he  would  find  himself  mis- 
taken. 

“Not  contented,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Chuckster,  “with  making 
friends  with  Abel,  he  has  cultivated  the  acquaintance  of  his 
father  and  mother.  Since  he  came  home  from  that  wild-goose 
chase,  he  has  been  there  — actually  been  there.  He  patronizes 
young  Snobby  besides ; you’ll  find,  sir,  that  he’ll  be  constantly 
coming  backwards  and  forwards  to  this  place : yet  I don’t 
suppose  that  beyond  the  common  forms  of  civility,  he  has 
ever  exchanged  half-a-dozen  words  with  me.  Now,  upon  my 
soul,  you  know,”  said  Mr.  Chuckster,  shaking  his  head  gravely, 
as  men  are  wont  to  do  when  they  consider  things  are  going  a 
little  too  far,  “ this  is  altogether  such  a low-minded  affair,  that 
if  I didn’t  feel  for  the  governor,  and  know  that  he  could  never 
get  on  without  me,  I should  be  obliged  to  cut  the  connection. 
I should  have  no  alternative.” 

Mr.  Swiveller,  who  sat  on  another  stool  opposite  to  his 
friend,  stirred  the  fire  in  an  excess  of  sympathy,  but  said 
nothing. 

“As  to  young  Snob,  sir,”  pursued  Mr.  Chuckster,  with  a 
prophetic  look,  “you’ll  find  he’ll  turn  out  bad.  In  our  pro- 
fession we  know  something  of  human  nature,  and  take  my 
word  for  it,  that  the  feller  that  came  back  to  work  out  that 
shilling,  will  show  himself  one  of  these  days  in  his  true  colors. 
He’s  a low  thief,  sir.  He  must  be.” 

Mr.  Chuckster  being  roused,  would  probably  have  pursued 
this  subject  further,  and  in  more  emphatic  language,  but  for 
a tap  at  the  door,  which  seeming  to  announce  the  arrival  of 
somebody  on  business,  caused  him  to  assume  a greater  appear- 
ance of  meekness  than  was  perhaps  quite  consistent  with  his 
late  declaration.  Mr.  Swiveller,  hearing  the  same  sound, 
caused  his  stool  to  revolve  rapfdly  on  one  leg  until  it  brought 
him  to  his  desk,  into  which,  having  forgotten  in  the  sudden 


KIT,  S VV IV ELLER  AND  MR.  CIIUCKSTER. 


THE  OLE  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


5 


flurry  of  his  spirits  to  part  with  the  poker,  he  thrust  it  as  he 
cried  “ Come  in ! ” 

Who  should  present  himself  but  that  very  Kit  who  had 
been  the  theme  of  Mr.  Chuckster’s  wrath ! Never  did  man 
pluck  up  his  courage  so  quickly,  or  look  so  fierce,  as  Mr. 
Chuckster  when  he  found  it  was  he.  Mr.  Swiveller  stared  at 
him  for  a moment,  and  then  leaping  from  his  stool,  and  draw- 
ing out  the  poker  from  its  place  of  concealment,  performed 
the  broad-sword  exercise  with  all  the  cuts  and  guards  com- 
plete, in  a species  of  frenzy. 

“ Is  the  gentleman  at  home  ? ” said  Kit,  rather  astonished 
by  this  uncommon  reception. 

Before  Mr.  Swiveller  could  make  any  reply,  Mr.  Chuckster 
took  occasion  to  enter  his  indignant  protest  against  this  form 
of  inquiry ; which  he  held  to  be  of  a disrespectful  and  snobbish 
tendency,  inasmuch  as  the  inquirer,  seeing  two  gentlemen  then 
and  there  present,  should  have  spoken  of  the  other  gentleman ; 
or  rather  (for  it  was  not  impossible  that  the  object  of  his 
search  might  be  of  inferior  quality)  should  have  mentioned 
his  name,  leaving  it  to  his  hearers  to  determine  his  degree  as 
they  thought  proper.  Mr.  Chuckster  likewise  remarked,  that 
he  had  some  reason  to  believe  this  form  of  address  was  per- 
sonal to  himself,  and  that  he  was  not  a man  to  be  trifled  with 
— as  certain  snobs  (whom  he  did  not  more  particularly  men- 
tion or  describe)  might  find  to  their  cost. 

“I  mean  the  gentleman  up  stairs/’  said  Kit,  turning  to 
Bichard  Swiveller.  “ Is  he  at  home  ? ” 

“ Why  ? ” rejoined  Dick. 

“ Because  if  he  is,  I have  a letter  for  him.” 

“ From  whom  ? ” said  Dick. 

“From  Mr.  Garland.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Dick,  with  extreme  politeness.  “ Then  you 
may  hand  it  over,  sir.  And  if  you’re  to  wait  for  an  answer, 
sir,  you  may  wait  in  the  passage,  sir,  which  is  an  airy  and 
well-ventilated  apartment,  sir.” 

“Thank  you,”  returned  Kit.  “But  I am  to  give  it  to 
himself,  if  you  please.” 

The  excessive  audacity  of  this  retort  so  overpowered  Mr. 
Chuckster,  and  so  moved  his  tender  regard  for  his  friend’s 


6 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP . 


honor,  that  he  declared,  if  he  were  not  restrained  by  official 
considerations,  he  must  certainly  have  annihilated  Kit  upon 
the  spot ; a resentment  of  the  affront  which  he  did  consider, 
under  the  extraordinary  circumstances  of  aggravation  attend- 
ing it,  could  not  but  have  met  with  the  proper-  sanction  and 
approval  of  a jury  of  Englishmen,  who,  he  had  no  doubt,  would 
have  returned  a verdict  of  J ustifiable  Homicide,  coupled  with 
a high  testimony  to  the  morals  and  character  of  the  Avenger. 
Mr.  Swiveller,  without  being  quite  so  hot  upon  the  matter, 
was  rather  shamed  by  his  friend’s  excitement,  and  not  a little 
puzzled  how  to  act  (Kit  being  quite  cool  and  good  humored), 
when  the  single  gentleman  was  heard  to  call  violently  down 
the  stairs. 

“ Didn’t  I see  somebody  for  me,  come  in  ? ” cried  the  lodger. 

“Yes,  sir,”  replied  Dick.  “Certainly,  sir.” 

“ Then  where  is  he  ? ” roared  the  single  gentleman. 

“He’s  here,  sir,”  rejoined  Mr.  Swiveller.  “Kow  young 
man,  don’t  you  hear  you’re  to  go  up  stairs  ? Are  you  deaf  ? ” 

Kit  did  not  appear  to  think  it  worth  his  while  to  enter  into 
any  altercation,  but  hurried  off  and  left  the  Glorious  Apollos 
gazing  at  each  other  in  silence. 

“ Didn’t  I tell  you  so  ? ” said  Mr.  Chuckster.  “ What  do 
you  think  of  that  ? ” 

Mr.  Swiveller  being  in  the  main  a good-natured  fellow,  and 
not  perceiving  in  the  conduct  of  Kit  any  villany  of  enormous 
magnitude,  scarcely  knew  what  answer  to  return.  He  was 
relieved  from  his  perplexity,  however,  by  the  entrance  of  Mr. 
Sampson  and  his  sister,  Sally,  at  sight  of  whom  Mr.  Chuckster 
precipitately  retired. 

Mr.  Brass  and  his  lovely  companion  appeared  to  have  been 
holding  a consultation  over  their  temperate  breakfast,  upon 
some  matter  of  great  interest  and  importance.  On  the  occa- 
sion of  such  conferences,  they  generally  appeared  in  the  office 
some  half  an  hour  after  their  usual  time,  and  in  a very  smiling 
state,  as  though  their  late  plots  and  designs  had  tranquilized 
their  minds  and  shed  a light  upon  their  toilsome  way.  In  the 
present  instance,  they  seemed  particularly  gay ; Miss  Sally’s 
aspect  being  of  a most  oily  kind,  and  Mr.  Brass  rubbing  his 
hands  in  an  exceedingly  jocose  and  light-hearted  manner. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


7 


“Well,  Mr.  Richard,”  said  Brass.  “How  are  we  this 
morning?  Are  we  pretty  fresh  and  cheerful,  sir  — eh,  Mr. 
Richard  ? ” 

“ Pretty  well,  sir,”  replied  Dick. 

“ That’s  well,”  said  Brass.  “ Ha  ha ! We  should  be  as  gay 
as  larks,  Mr.  Richard  — why  not  ? It’s  a pleasant  world  we 
live  in,  sir,  a very  pleasant  world.  There  are  bad  people  in  it, 
Mr.  Richard;  but  if  there  were  no  bad  people,  there  would 
be  no  good  lawyers.  Ha  ha!  Any  letters  by  the  post  this 
morning,  Mr.  Richard?” 

Mr.  Swiveller  answered  in  the  negative. 

“Ha!”  said  Brass,  “no  matter.  If  there’s  little  business 
to-day,  there’ll  be  more  to-morrow.  A contented  spirit,  Mr. 
Richard,  is  the  sweetness  of  existence.  Anybody  been  here, 
sir  ? ” 

“ Only  my  friend  ” — replied  Dick.  “ ‘ May  we  ne’er  want 
a — ’” 

“ ‘ Friend,’  ” Brass  chimed  in  quickly,  “ ‘ or  a bottle  to  give 
him.’  Ha  ha  ! That’s  the  way  the  song  runs,  isn’t  it  ? A 
very  good  song,  Mr.  Richard,  very  good.  I like  the  sentiment 
of  it.  Ha  ha ! Your  friend’s  the  young  man  from  Wither- 
den’s  office  I think  — yes  — c May  we  ne’er  want  a — ’ No- 
body else  at  all,  been,  Mr.  Richard  ? ” 

“ Only  somebody  to  the  lodger,”  replied  Mr.  Swiveller. 

“ Oh  indeed ! ” cried  Brass.  “ Somebody  to  the  lodger,  eh  ? 
Ha  ha ! ‘ May  we  ne’er  want  a friend,  or  a — ’ Somebody  to 

the  lodger,  eh,  Mr.  Richard  ? ” 

“Yes,”  said  Dick,  a little  disconcerted  by  the  excessive 
buoyancy  of  spirits  which  his  employer  displayed.  “With 
him  now.” 

“ With  him  now  ! ” cried  Brass  ; “ Ha  ha ! There  let  ’em  be, 
merry  and  free,  toor  rul  lol  le.  Eh,  Mr.  Richard  ? Ha  ha ! ” 

“ Oh  certainly,”  replied  Dick. 

“And  who,”  said  Brass,  shuffling  among  his  papers,  “ who  is 
the  lodger’s  visitor  — not  a lady  visitor  I hope,  eh  Mr.  Rich- 
ard ? The  morals  of  the  Marks  you  know,  sir  — ‘ when  lovely 
woman  stoops  to  folly  ’ — and  all  that  — eh,  Mr.  Richard  ? ” 

“Another  young  man,  who  belongs  to  Witherden’s  too,  or 
half  belongs  there,”  returned  Richard.  “ Kit,  they  call  him.” 


8 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP . 


“Kit,  eh!”  said  Brass.  “ Strange  name — name  of  a dancing- 
master’s  fiddle,  eh,  Mr.  Bichard?  Ha  ha!  Kit’s  there,  is  he? 
Oh!” 

Dick  looked  at  Miss  Sally,  wondering  that  she  didn’t  check 
this  uncommon  exuberance  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Sampson ; but 
as  she  made  no  attempt  to  do  so,  and  rather  appeared  to  exhibit 
a tacit  acquiescence  in  it,  he  concluded  that  they  had  just  been 
cheating  somebody,  and  receiving  the  bill. 

“ Will  you  have  the  goodness,  Mr.  Bichard,”  said  Brass,  tak- 
ing a letter  from  his  desk,  “ just  to  step  over  to  Peckham  Bye 
with  that  ? There’s  no  answer,  but  its  rather  particular  and 
should  go  by  hand.  Charge  the  office  with  your  coach-hire 
back,  you  know ; don’t  spare  the  office ; get  as  much  out  of  it 
as  you  can  — clerk’s  motto  — Eh,  Mr.  Bichard  ? Ha  ha ! ” 

Mr.  Swiveller  solemnly  doffed  his  aquatic  jacket,  put  on  his 
coat,  took  down  his  hat  from  its  peg,  pocketed  the  letter,  and 
departed.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  up  rose  Miss  Sally  Brass, 
and  smiling  sweetly  at  her  brother  (who  nodded  and  smote  his 
nose  in  return)  withdrew  also. 

Sampson  Brass  was  no  sooner  left  alone,  than  he  set  the 
office-door  wide  open,  and  establishing  himself  at  his  desk 
directly  opposite,  so  that  he  could  not  fail  to  see  anybody  who 
came  down  stairs  and  passed  out  at  the  street  door,  began  to 
write  with  extreme  cheerfulness  and  assiduity ; humming  as 
he  did  so,  in  a voice  that  was  anything  but  musical,  certain 
vocal  snatches  which  appeared  to  have  reference  to  the  union 
between  Church  and  State,  inasmuch  as  they  were  compounded 
of  the  Evening  Hymn  and  God  save  the  King. 

Thus,  the  attorney  of  Bevis  Marks  sat,  and  wrote,  and 
hummed,  for  a long  time,  except  when  he  stopped  to  listen 
with  a very  cunning  face,  and  hearing  nothing,  went  on  hum- 
ming louder,  and  writing  slower  than  ever.  At  length,  in  one 
of  these  pauses,  he  heard  his  lodger’s  door  opened  and  shut, 
and  footsteps  coming  down  the  stairs.  Then,  Mr.  Brass  left  off 
writing  entirely,  and,  with  his  pen  in  his  hand,  hummed  his 
very  loudest ; shaking  his  head  meanwhile  from  side  to  side, 
like  a man  whose  whole  soul  was  in  the  music,  and  smiling  in 
a manner  quite  seraphic. 

It  was  towards  this  moving  spectacle  that  the  staircase  and 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


9 


the  sweet  sounds  guided  Kit : on  whose  arrival  before  his 
door,  Mr.  Brass  stopped  his  singing,  but  not  his  smiling,  and 
j.  nodded  affaby  : at  the  same  time  beckoning  to  him  with  his 
| pen. 

“ Kit,”  said  Mr.  Brass,  in  the  pleasantest  way  imaginable, 
“ how  do  you  do  ? ” 

Kit,  being  rather  shy  of  his  friend,  made  a suitable  reply, 
and  had  his  hand  upon  the  lock  of  the  street  door  when  Mr. 
Brass  called  him  softly  back. 

“You  are  not  to  go,  if  you  please,  Kit,”  said  the  attorney,  in 
a mysterious  and  yet  business-like  way.  “ You  are  to  step  in 
here,  if  you  please.  Dear  me,  dear  me  ! When  I look  at  you,”’ 
said  the  lawyer,  quitting  his  stool,  and  standing  before  the  fire 
with  his  back  towards  it,  “I  am  reminded  of  the  sweetest  little 
face  that  ever  my  eyes  beheld.  I remember  your  coming  there, 
twice  or  thrice,  when  we  were  in  possession.  Ah  Kit,  my  dear 
fellow,  gentlemen  in  my  profession  have  such  painful  duties 
f to  perform  sometimes,  that  you  needn’t  envy  us  — you  needn’t 
I indeed ! ” 

“I  don’t,  sir,”  said  Kit,  “though  it  isn’t  for  the  like  of  me 
to  judge.” 

“ Our  only  consolation,  Kit,”  pursued  the  lawyer,  looking 
at  him  in  a sort  of  pensive  abstraction,  “ is,  that  although  we 
cannot  turn  away  the  wind,  we  can  soften  it ; we  can  temper 
it,  if  I may  say  so,  to  the  shorn  lambs.” 

“ Shorn  indeed  ! ” thought  Kit.  “ Pretty  close  ! ” But  he 
didn’t  say  so. 

“ On  that  occasion,  Kit,”  said  Mr.  Brass,  “ on  that  occasion 
that  I have  just  alluded  to,  I had  a hard  battle  with  Mr.  Quilp 
(for  Mr.  Quilp  is  a very  hard  man)  to  obtain  them  the  indul- 
gence they  had.  It  might  have  cost  me  a client.  But  suffer- 
ing virtue  inspired  me,  and  I prevailed.” 

“ He’s  not  so  bad  after  all,”  thought  honest  Kit,  as  the  attor- 
ney pursed  up  his  lips  and  looked  like  a man  who  was  strug- 
gling with  his  better  feelings. 

“I  respect  you , Kit,”  said  Brass,  with  emotion.  “I  saw 
enough  of  your  conduct,  at  that  time,  to  respect  you,  though 
your  station  is  humble,  and  your  fortune  lowly.  It  isn’t  the 
waistcoat  that  I look  at.  It  is  the  heart.  The  checks  in  the 


10 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


waistcoat  are  but  the  wires  of  the  cage.  But  the  heart  is  the 
bird.  Ah ! How  many  sich  birds  are  perpetually  moulting, 
and  putting  their  beaks  through  the  wires  to  peck  at  all  man- 
kind ! ” 

This  poetic  figure,  which  Kit  took  to  be  in  special  allusion 
to  his  own  checked  waistcoat,  quite  overcame  him;  Mr.  Brass’s 
voice  and  manner  added  not  a little  to  its  effect,  for  he  dis- 
coursed with  all  the  mild  austerity  of  a hermit,  and  wanted 
but  a cord  round  the  waist  of  his  rusty  surtout,  and  a skull 
on  the  chimney-piece,  to  be  completely  set  up  in  that  line  of 
business. 

“Well,  well,”  said  Sampson,  smiling  as  good  men  smile 
when  they  compassionate  their  own  weakness  or  that  of  their 
fellow-creatures,  “this  is  wide  of  the  bull’s-eye.  You’re  to 
take  that  if  you  please.”  As  he  spoke,  he  pointed  to  a couple 
of  half-crowns  on  the  desk. 

Kit  looked  at  the  coins,  and  then  at  Sampson,  and  hesitated. 

“ For  yourself,”  said  Brass. 

“ From  — ” 

“No  matter  about  the  person  they  came  from,”  replied  the 
lawyer.  “Say  me,  if  you  like.  We  have  eccentric  friends 
overhead,  Kit,  and  we  mustn’t  ask  questions  or  talk  too  much 
— you  understand?  You’re  to  take  them,  that’s  all;  and 
between  you  and  me,  I don’t  think  they’ll  be  the  last  you’ll 
have  to  take  from  the  same  place.  I hope  not.  Good  by, 
Kit.  Good  by  ! ” 

With  many  thanks,  and  many  more  self-reproaches  for  hav- 
ing on  such  slight  grounds  suspected  one  who  in  their  very  first 
conversation  turned  out  such  a different  man  from  what  he 
had  supposed,  Kit  took  the  money  and  made  the  best  of  his 
way  home.  Mr.  Brass  remained  airing  himself  at  the  fire, 
and  resumed  his  vocal  exercise,  and  his  seraphic  smile  simul- 
taneously. 

“ May  I come  in  ? ” said  Miss  Sally,  peeping. 

“Oh  yes,  you  may  come  in,”  returned  her  brother. 

“ Ahem  ? ” coughed  Miss  Brass,  interrogatively. 

“ Why,  yes,”  returned  Sampson,  “ I should  say  as  good  as 
done.” 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


11 


CHAPTER  II. 

Mr.  Chuckster’s  indignant  apprehensions  were  not  with- 
out foundation.  Certainly  the  friendship  between  the  single 
gentleman  and  Mr.  Garland  was  not  suffered  to  cool,  but  had 
a rapid  growth  and  flourished  exceedingly.  They  were  soon 
in  habits  of  constant  intercourse  and  communication  ; and  the 
single  gentleman  laboring  at  this  time  under  a slight  attack 
of  illness  — the  consequence  most  probably  of  his  late  excited 
feelings  and  subsequent  disappointment  — furnished  a reason 
for  their  holding  yet  more  frequent  correspondence  ; so,  that 
some  one  of  the  inmates  of  Abel  Cottage,  Finchley,  came  back- 
wards and  forwards  between  that  place  and  Bevis  Marks, 
almost  every  day. 

As  the  pony  had  now  thrown  off  all  disguise,  and  without 
any  mincing  of  the  matter  or  beating  about  the  bush,  sturdily 
refused  to  be  driven  by  anybody  but  Kit,  it  generally  hap- 
pened that  whether  old  Mr.  Garland  came,  or  Mr.  Abel,  Kit 
was  of  the  party.  Of  all  messages  and  inquiries,  Kit  was,  in 
right  of  his  position,  the  bearer;  thus  it  came  about  that, 
while  the  single  gentleman  remained  indisposed,  Kit  turned 
into  Bevis  Marks  every  morning  with  nearly  as  much  regular- 
ity as  the  General  Postman. 

Mr.  Sampson  Brass,  who  no  doubt  had  his  reasons  for  look- 
ing sharply  about  him,  soon  learnt  to  distinguish  the  pony’s 
trot  and  the  clatter  of  the  little  chaise  at  the  corner  of  the 
street.  Whenever  this  sound  reached  his  ears,  he  would 
immediately  lay  down  his  pen  and  fall  to  rubbing  his  hands 
and  exhibiting  the  greatest  glee. 

“ Ha  ha ! ” he  would  cry.  “ Here’s  the  pony  again ! Most 
remarkable  pony,  extremely  docile,  eh,  Mr.  Richard,  eh,  sir  ? ” 

Dick  would  return  some  matter-of-course  reply,  and  Mr. 
Brass,  standing  on  the  bottom  rail  of  his  stool,  so  as  to  get  a 


12 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


view  of  the  street  over  the  top  of  the  window-blind,  would 
take  an  observation  of  the  visitors. 

“ The  old  gentleman  again ! ” he  would  exclaim,  “ a very 
prepossessing  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Richard  — charming  counte- 
nance, sir  — extremely  calm  — benevolence  in  every  feature, 
sir.  He  quite  realizes  my  idea  of  King  Lear,  as  he  appeared 
when  in  possession  of  his  kingdom,  Mr.  Richard  — the  same 
good-humor,  the  same  -white  hair  and  partial  baldness,  the 
same  liability  to  be  imposed  upon.  Ah  ! A sweet  subject  for 
contemplation  sir,  very  sweet ! ” 

Then,  Mr.  Garland  having  alighted  and  gone  up  stairs,  Samp- 
son would  nod  and  smile  to  Kit  from  the  window,  and  pres- 
ently walk  out  into  the  street  to  greet  him,  when  some  such 
conversation  as  the  following  would  ensue. 

“ Admirably  groomed,  Kit”  — Mr.  Brass  is  patting  the  pony 
— “ does  you  great  credit  — amazingly  sleek  and  bright  to  be 
sure.  He  literally  looks  as  if  he  had  been  varnished  all  over.” 
Kit  touches  his  hat,  smiles,  pats  the  pony  himself,  and 
expresses  his  conviction,  “that  Mr.  Brass  will  not  find  many 
like  him.” 

“ A beautiful  animal,  indeed ! ” cries  Brass.  “ Sagacious 
too  ? ” 

“Bless  you ! ” replies  Kit,  “ he  knows  what  you  say  to  him 
as  well  as  a Christian  does.” 

“Does  he  indeed!”  cries  Brass,  who  has  heard  the  same 
thing  in  the  same  place  from  the  same  person  in  the  same 
words  a dozen  times,  but  is  paralyzed  with  astonishment  not- 
withstanding. “ Dear  me  ! ” . 

“ I little  thought  the  first  time  I saw  him,  sir,”  said  Kit, 
pleased  with  the  attorney’s  strong  interest  in  his  favorite, 
“that  I should  come  to  be  as  intimate  with  him  as  I am  now.” 
“Ah!”  rejoins  Mr.  Brass,  brim-full  of  moral  percepts  and 
love  of  virtue.  “A  charming  subject  of  reflection  for  you, 
very  charming.  A subject  of  proper  pride  and  congratulation, 
Christopher.  Honesty  is  the  best  policy. — I always  find  it  so 
myself.  I lost  forty-seven  pound  ten  by  being  honest  this 
morning.  But  it’s  all  gain,  it’s  gain  ! ” 

Mr.  Brass  slily  tickles  his  nose  with  his  pen,  and  looks  at 
Kit  with  the  water  standing  in  his  eyes.  Kit  thinks  that  if 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


13 


ever  there  was  a good  man  who  belied  his  appearance,  that 
man  is  Sampson  Brass. 

“ A man,”  says  Sampson,  “ who  loses  forty-seven  pound  ten 
in  one  morning  by  his  honesty,  is  a man  to  be  envied.  If 
it  had  been  eighty  pound,  the  luxuriousness  of  feeling  would 
have  been  increased.  Every  pound  lost  would  have  been  a 
hundredweight  of  happiness  gained.  The  still  small  voice, 
Christopher,”  cries  Brass,  smiling,  and  tapping  himself  on  the 
bosom,  “ is  a singing  comic  songs  within  me,  and  all  is  happi- 
ness and  joy ! ” 

Kit  is  so  improved  by  the  conversation,  and  finds  it  go  so 
completely  home  to  his  feelings,  that  he  is  considering  what 
he  shall  say,  when  Mr.  Garland  appears.  The  old  gentleman 
is  helped  into  the  chaise  with  great  obsequiousness  by  Mr. 
Sampson  Brass ; and  the  pony,  after  shaking  his  head  several 
times,  and  standing  for  three  or  four  minutes  with  all  his  four 
legs  planted  firmly  on  the  ground,  as  if  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  never  to  stir  from  that  spot,  but  there  to  live  and  die, 
suddenly  darts  off,  without  the  smallest  notice,  at  the  rate  of 
twelve  English  miles  an  hour.  Then,  Mr.  Brass  and  his 
sister  (who  has  joined  him  at  the  door)  exchange  an  odd  kind 
of  smile  — not  at  all  a pleasant  one  in  its  expression  — and 
return  to  the  society  of  Mr.  Bichard  Swiveller,  who,  during 
their  absence,  has  been  regaling  himself  with  various  feats  of 
pantomime,  and  is  discovered  at  his  desk,  in  a very  flushed 
and  heated  condition,  violently  scratching  out  nothing  with 
half  a penknife. 

Whenever  Kit  came  alone,  and  without  the  chaise,  it  always 
happened  that  Sampson  Brass  was  reminded  of  some  mission, 
calling  Mr.  Swiveller,  if  not  to  Peckham  Rye  again,  at  all 
events  to  some  pretty  distant  place  from  which  he  could  not 
be  expected  to  return  for  two  or  three  hours,  or  in  all  proba- 
bility a much  longer  period,  as  that  gentleman  was  not,  to 
say  the  truth,  renowned  for  using  great  expedition  on  such 
occasions,  but  rather  for  protracting  and  spinning  out  the 
time  to  the  very  utmost  limit  of  possibility.  Mr.  Swiveller 
out  of  sight,  Miss  Sally  immediately  withdrew.  Mr.  Brass 
would  then  set  the  office-door  wide  open,  hum  his  old  tune 
with  great  gaiety  of  heart,  and  smile  seraphically  as  before. 


14 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


Kit  coming  down  stairs  would  be  called  in ; entertained  with 
some  moral  and  agreeable  conversation ; perhaps  entreated  to 
mind  the  office  for  an  instant  while  Mr.  Brass  stepped  over 
the  way;  and  afterwards  presented  with  one  or  two  half- 
crowns  as  the  case  might  be.  This  occurred  so  often,  that 
Kit,  nothing  doubting  but  that  they  came  from  the  single 
gentleman  who  had  already  rewarded  his  mother  with  great 
liberality,  could  not  enough  admire  his  generosity  ; and  bought 
so  many  cheap  presents  for  her,  and  for  little  Jacob,  and  for 
the  baby,  and  for  Barbara  to  boot,  that  one  or  other  of  them 
was  having  some  new  trifle  every  day  of  their  lives. 

While  these  acts  and  deeds  were  in  progress  in  and  out  of 
the  office  of  Sampson  Brass,  Bichard  Swiveller,  being  often 
left  alone  therein,  began  to  find  the  time  hang  heavy  on  his 
hands.  For  the  better  preservation  of  his  cheerfulness,  there- 
fore, and  to  prevent  his  faculties  from  rusting,  he  provided 
himself  with  a cribbage-board  and  pack  of  cards,  and  accus- 
tomed himself  to  play  at  cribbage  with  a dummy,  for  twenty, 
thirty,  or  sometimes  even  fifty  thousand  pounds  a side,  besides 
many  hazardous  bets  to  a considerable  amount. 

As  these  games  were  very  silently  conducted,  notwithstand- 
ing the  magnitude  of  the  interests  involved,  Mr.  Swiveller 
began  to  think  that  on  those  evenings  when  Mr.  and  Miss 
Brass  were  out  (and  they  often  went  out  now)  he  heard  a kind 
of  snorting  or  hard-breathing  sound  in  the  direction  of  the 
door,  which  it  occurred  to  him,  after  some  reflection,  must 
proceed  from  the  small  servant,  who  always  had  a cold  from 
damp  living.  Looking  intently  that  way  one  night,  he  plainly 
distinguished  an  eye  gleaming  and  glistening  at  the  keyhole  ; 
and  having  now  no  doubt  that  his  suspicions  were  correct,  he 
stole  softly  to  the  door,  and  pounced  upon  her  before  she  was 
aware  of  his  approach. 

“Oh!  I didn’t  mean  any  harm  indeed,  upon  my  word  I 
didn’t,”  cried  the  small  servant,  struggling  like  a much  larger 
one.  “It’s  so  very  dull,  down  stairs.  Please  don’t  you  tell 
upon  me,  please  don’t.” 

“ Tell  upon  you  ! ” said  Dick.  “ Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
were  looking  through  the  keyhole  for  company  ? ” 

“Yes,  upon  my  word  I was,”  replied  the  small  servant. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


15 


“ How  long  have  you  been  cooling  your  eye  there  ? ” said 
Dick. 

“ Oh  ever  since  you  first  began  to  play  them  cards,  and 
long  before.” 

Vague  recollections  of  several  fantastic  exercises  with  which 
he  had  refreshed  himself  after  the  fatigues  of  business,  and  to 
all  of  which,  no  doubt,  the  small  servant  was  a party,  rather 
disconcerted  Mr.  Swiveller ; but  he  was  not  very  sensitive  on 
such  points,  and  recovered  himself  speedily. 

“Well,  — come  in” — he  said,  after  a little  consideration. 
“Here  — sit  down,  and  Fll  teach  you  how  to  play.” 

“Oh!  I durstn’t  do  it,”  rejoined  the  small  servant;  “Miss 
Sally  ?ud  kill  me,  if  she  know’d  I come  up  here.” 

“ Have  you  got  a fire  down  stairs  ? ” said  Dick. 

“ A very  little  one,”  replied  the  small  servant. 

“Miss  Sally  couldn’t  kill  me  if  she  know’d  I went  down 
there,  so  I’ll  come,”  said  Diehard,  putting  the  cards  into  his 
pocket.  “Why,  how  thin  you  are  ! What  do  you  mean  by 
it?” 

“ It  an’t  my  fault.” 

“ Could  you  eat  any  bread  and  meat  ? ” said  Dick,  taking 
down  his  hat.  “ Yes  ? Ah ! I thought  so.  Did  you  ever 
taste  beer  ? ” 

“ I had  a sip  of  it  once,”  said  the  small  servant. 

“ Here’s  a state  of  things  ! ” cried  Mr.  Swiveller,  raising  his 
eyes  to  the  ceiling.  “ She  never  tasted  it  — it  can’t  be  tasted 
in  a sip  ! Why,  how  old  are  you  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know.” 

Mr.  Swiveller  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  and  appeared 
thoughtful  for  a moment ; then,  bidding  the  child  mind  the 
door  until  he  came  back,  vanished  straightway. 

Presently,  he  returned,  followed  by  the  boy  from  the  public 
house,  who  bore  in  one  hand  a plate  of  bread  and  beef,  and 
in  the  other  a great  pot,  filled  with  some  very  fragrant  com- 
pound, which  sent  forth  a grateful  steam,  and  was  indeed 
choice  purl,  made  after  a particular  recipe  which  Mr.  Swiveller 
had  imparted  to  the  landlord,  at  a period  when  he  was  deep 
in  his  books  and  desirous  to  conciliate  his  friendship.  Reliev- 
ing the  boy  of  his  burden  at  the  door,  and  charging  his  little 


16 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


companion  to  fasten  it  to  prevent  surprise,  Mr.  Swiveller 
followed  her  into  the  kitchen. 

“ There ! ” said  Bichard,  putting  the  plate  before  her. 
“ First  of  all,  clear  that  off,  and  then  you’ll  see  what’s  next.” 

The  small  servant  needed  no  second  bidding,  and  the  plate 
was  soon  empty. 

“Next,”  said  Dick,  handing  the  purl,  “take  a pull  at  that; 
but  moderate  your  transports,  you  know,  for  you’re  not  used 
to  it.  Well,  is  it  good  ? ” 

“ Oh ! isn’t  it  ? ” said  the  small  servant. 

Mr.  Swiveller  appeared  gratified  beyond  all  expression  by 
this  reply,  and  took  a long  draught  himself : steadfastly  re- 
garding his  companion  while  he  did  so.  These  preliminaries 
disposed  of,  he  applied  himself  to  teaching  her  the  game, 
which  she  soon  learnt  tolerably  well,  being  both  sharp-witted 
and  cunning. 

“Now,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  putting  two  sixpences  into  a 
saucer,  and  trimming  the  wretched  candle,  when  the  cards 
had  been  cut  and  dealt,  “ those  are  the  stakes.  If  you  win, 
you  get  ’em  all.  If  I win,  I get  ’em.  To  make  it  seem  more 
real  and  pleasant,  I shall  call  you  the  Marchioness,  do  you 
hear  ? ” 

The  small  servant  nodded. 

“ Then,  Marchioness,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  “ fire  away  ! ” 

The  Marchioness,  holding  her  cards  very  tight  in  both 
hands,  considered  which  to  play,  and  Mr.  Swiveller,  assuming 
the  gay  and  fashionable  air  which  such  society  required,  took 
another  pull  at  the  tankard,  and  waited  for  her  lead. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


17 


CHAPTER  III. 

Mr.  Swiveller  and  his  partner  played  several  rubbers 
with  varying  success,  until  the  loss  of  three  sixpences,  the 
gradual  sinking  of  the  purl,  and  the  striking  of  ten  o’clock, 
combined  to  render  that  gentleman  mindful  of  the  flight  of 
Time,  and  the  expediency  of  withdrawing  before  Mr.  Sampson 
and  Miss  Sally  Brass  returned. 

“ With  which  object  in  view,  Marchioness,”  said  Mr.  Swiv- 
eller,  gravely,  “ I shall  ask  your  ladyship’s  permission  to  put 
the  board  in  my  pocket,  and  to  retire  from  the  presence  when 
I have  finished  this  tankard;  merely  observing,  Marchioness, 
that  since  life  like  a river  is  flowing,  I care  not  how  fast  it 
rolls  on,  ma’am,  on,  while  such  purl  on  the  bank  still  is  grow- 
ing, and  such  eyes  light  the  waves  as  they  run.  Marchioness, 
your  health.  You  will  excuse  my  wearing  my  hat,  but  the 
palace  is  damp,  and  the  marble  floor,  is  — if  I may  be  allowed 
the  expression  — sloppy.” 

As  a precaution  against  this  latter  inconvenience,  Mr.  Swiv- 
eller  had  been  sitting  for  some  time  with  his  feet  on  the  hob, 
in  which  attitude  he  now  gave  utterance  to  these  apologetic 
observations,  and  slowly  sipped  the  last  choice  drops  of  nectar. 

“The  Baron  Sampsono  Brasso  and  his  fair  sister  are  (you 
tell  me)  at  the  Play  ? ” said  Mr.  Swiveller,  leaning  his  left 
arm  heavily  upon  the  table,  and  raising  his  voice  and  his  right 
leg  after  the  manner  of  a theatrical  bandit. 

The  Marchioness  nodded. 

“Ha!”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  with  a portentous  frown.  “ ’Tis 
well.  Marchioness  ! — but  no  matter.  Some  wine  there.  Ho  ! ” 
He  illustrated  these  melo-dramatic  morsels,  by  handing  the 
tankard  to  himself  with  great  humility,  receiving  it  haughtily, 
drinking  from  it  thirstily,  and  smacking  his  lips  fiercely. 

The  small  servant  who  was  not  so  well  acquainted  with 

VOL,  II— 2 


18 


THE  OLE  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


theatrical  conventionalities  as  Mr.  Swiveller  (having  indeed 
never  seen  a play,  or  heard  one  spoken  of,  except  by  chance 
through  chinks  of  doors  and  in  other  forbidden  places)  was 
rather  alarmed  by  demonstrations  so  novel  in  their  nature, 
and  showed  her  concern  so  plainly  in  her  looks,  That  Mr. 
Swiveller  felt  it  necessary  to  discharge  his  brigand  manner  for 
one  more  suitable  to  private  life,  as  he  asked, 

“Do  they  often  go  where  glory  waits  ’em  and  leave  you 
here?” 

“ Oh,  yes  ; I believe  you  they  do,”  returned  the  small  ser- 
vant. “Miss  Sally’s  such  a one-er  for  that,  she  is.” 

“ Such  a what  ? ” said  Dick. 

“ Such  a one-er,”  returned  the  Marchioness. 

After  a moment’s  reflection,  Mr.  Swiveller  determined  to 
forego  his  responsible  duty  of  setting  her  right,  and  to  suffer 
her  to  talk  on ; as  it  was  evident  that  her  tongue  was  loosened 
by  the  purl,  and  her  opportunities  for  conversation  were  not 
so  frequent  as  to  render  a momentary  check  of  little  conse- 
quence. 

“ They  sometimes  go  to  see  Mr.  Quilp,”  said  the  small  ser- 
vant with  a shrewd  look ; “ they  go  to  a many  places,  bless 
you  ! ” 

“ Is  Mr.  Brass  a wunner  ? ” said  Dick. 

“ Not  half  what  Miss  Sally  is,  he  isn’t,”  replied  the  small 
servant,  shaking  her  head.  “ Bless  you,  he’d  never  do  any- 
thing without  her.” 

“ Oh  ! ' He  wouldn’t,  wouldn’t  he  ? ” said  Dick. 

“Miss  Sally  keeps  him  in  such  order,”  said  the  small 
servant ; “ he  always  asks  her  advice,  he  does  ; and  he  catches 
it  sometimes.  Bless  you,  you  wouldn’t  believe  how  much  he 
catches  it.” 

“I  suppose,”  said  Dick,  “that  they  consult  together,  a good 
deal,  and  talk  about  a great  many  people — about  me  for 
instance,  sometimes,  eh,  Marchioness?” 

The  Marchioness  nodded  amazingly. 

“ Complimentary  ? ” said  Mr.  Swiveller. 

The  Marchioness  changed  the  motion  of  her  head,  which 
had  not  yet  left  off  nodding,  and  suddenly  began  to  shake  it 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


19 


from  side  to  side,  with  a vehemence  which  threatened  to  dislo- 
cate her  neck. 

“Humph!”  Dick  muttered.  “Would  it  be  any  breach  of 
confidence,  Marchioness,  to  relate  what  they  say  of  the  humble 
individual  who  has  now  the  honor  to  — ? ” 

“ Miss  Sally  says  you’re  a funny  chap,”  replied  his  friend. 

“Well,  Marchioness,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  “that’s  not 
uncomplimentary.  Merriment,  Marchioness,  is  not  a bad  or 
a degrading  quality.  Old  King  Cole  was  himself  a merry  old 
soul,  if  we  may  put  any  faith  in  the  pages  of  history.” 

“But  she  says,”  pursued  his  companion,  “that  you  an’t  to 
be  trusted.” 

“Why,  really  Marchioness,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  thought- 
fully ; “ several  ladies  and  gentlemen  — not  exactly  profes- 
sional persons,  but  tradespeople,  ma’am,  tradespeople  — have 
made  the  same  remark.  The  obscure  citizen  who  keeps  the 
hotel  over  the  way,  inclined  strongly  to  that  opinion  to-night 
When  I ordered  him  to  prepare  the  banquet.  It’s  a popular 
prejudice,  Marchioness ; and  yet  I am  sure  I don’t  know  why, 
for  I have  been  trusted  in  my  time  to  a considerable  amount, 
and  I can  safely  say  that  I never  forsook  my  trust  until  it 
deserted  me  — never.  Mr.  Brass  is  of  the  same  opinion,  I 
suppose ! ” 

His  friend  nodded  again,  with  a cunning  look  which  seemed 
to  hint  that  Mr.  Brass  held  stronger  opinions  on  the  subject 
than  his  sister;  and  seeming  to  recollect  herself,  added 
imploringly,  “But  don’t  you  ever  tell  upon  me,  or  I shall  be 
beat  to  death.” 

“Marchioness,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  rising,  “the  word  of  a 
gentleman  is  as  good  as  his  bond — sometimes  better,  as  in  the 
present  case,  where  his  bond  might  prove  but  a doubtful  sort 
of  security.  I am  your  friend,  and  I hope  we  shall  play  many 
more  rubbers  together  in  this  same  saloon.  But,  Marchioness,” 
added  Bichard,  stopping  in  his  way  to  the  door,  and  wheeling 
slowly  round  upon  the  small  servant,  who  was  following  with 
the  candle ; “ it  occurs  to  me  that  you  must  be  in  the  constant 
habit  of  airing  your  eye  at  keyholes,  to  know  all  this.” 

“I  only  wanted,”  replied  the  trembling  Marchioness,  “to 
know  where  the  key  of  the  safe  was  hid ; that  was  all ; and  I 


20 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


wouldn’t  have  taken  much,  if  I had  found  it  — only  enough  to 
squench  my  hunger.” 

“You  didn’t  find  it,  then  ? ” said  Dick.  “But  of  course  you 
didn’t,  or  you’d  be  plumper.  Good  night,  Marchioness.  Fare 
thee  well,  and  if  for  ever,  then  for  ever  fare  thee  well  — and 
put  up  the  chain,  Marchioness,  in  case  of  accidents.” 

With  this  parting  injunction,  Mr.  Swiveller  emerged  from 
the  house ; and  feeling  that  he  had  by  this  time  taken  quite 
as  much  to  drink  as  promised  to  be  good  for  his  constitution 
(purl  being  a rather  strong  and  heady  compound),  wisely 
resolved  to  betake  himself  to  his  lodgings,  and  to  bed  at  once. 
Homeward  he  went  therefore ; and  his  apartments  (for  he 
still  retained  the  plural  fiction)  being  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  office,  he  was  soon  seated  in  his  own  bed-chamber, 
where,  having  pulled  off  one  boot  and  forgotten  the  other,  he 
fell  into  deep  cogitation. 

“This  Marchioness,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  folding  his  arms, 
“is  a very  extraordinary  person  — surrounded  by  mysteries, 
ignorant  of  the  taste  of  beer,  unacquainted  with  her  own  name 
(which  is  less  remarkable),  and  taking  a limited  view  of 
society  through  the  keyholes  of  doors  — can  these  things  be 
her  destiny,  or  has  some  unknown  person  started  an  opposi- 
tion to  the  decrees  of  fate  ? It  is  a most  inscrutable  and 
unmitigated  staggerer ! ” 

When  his  meditations  had  attained  this  satisfactory  point, 
he  became  aware  of  his  remaining  boot,  of  which,  with  unim- 
paired solemnity,  he  proceeded  to  divest  himself ; shaking  his 
head  with  exceeding  gravity  all  the  time,  and  sighing  deeply. 

“ These  rubbers,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  putting  on  his  night- 
cap in  exactly  the  same  style  as  he  wore  his  hat,  “ remind  me 
of  the  matrimonial  fireside.  Cheggs’s  wife  plays  cribbage ; 
all-fours  likewise.  She  rings  the  changes  on  ’em  now.  From 
sport  to  sport  they  hurry  her,  to  banish  her  regrets,  and  when 
they  win  a smile  from  her,  they  think  that  she  forgets — but 
she  don’t.  By  this  time,  I should  say,”  added  Bichard,  get- 
ting his  left  cheek  into  profile,  and  looking  complacently  at 
the  reflection  of  a very  little  scrap  of  whisker  in  the  looking- 
glass ; “by  this  time,  I should  say,  the  iron  has  entered  into 
her  soul.  It  serves  her  right ! ” 


MR.  SWIVELLER’S  FLUTE  PRACTICE. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


21 


Melting  from  this  stern  and  obdurate,  into  the  tender  and 
pathetic  mood,  Mr.  Swiveller  groaned  a little,  walked  wildly 
up  and  down,  and  even  made  a show  of  tearing  his  hair,  which 
however  he  thought  better  of,  and  wrenched  the  tassel  from 
his  nightcap  instead.  At  last,  undressing  himself  with  a 
gloomy  resolution,  he  got  into  bed. 

Some  men  in  his  blighted  position  would  have  taken  to 
drinking ; but  as  Mr.  Swiveller  had  taken  to  that  before,  he 
only  took,  on  receiving  the  news  that  Sophy  Wackles  was 
lost  to  him  for  ever,  to  playing  the  flute;  thinking  after 
mature  consideration  that  it  was  a good,  sound,  dismal 
occupation,  not  only  in  unison  with  his  own  sad  thoughts, 
but  calculated  to  awaken  a fellow-feeling  in  the  bosoms  of  his 
neighbors.  In  pursuance  of  this  resolution,  he  now  drew  a 
little  table  to  his  bedside,  and  arranging  the  light  and  a small 
oblong  music-book  to  the  best  advantage,  took  his  flute  from 
its  box,  and  began  to  play  most  mournfully. 

The  air  was,  “ Away  with  melancholy  ” — a composition, 
which,  when  it  is  played  very  slowly  on  the  flute,  in  bed,  with 
the  further  disadvantage  of  being  performed  by  a gentleman 
but  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  instrument,  who  repeats 
one  note  a great  many  times,  before  he  can  find  the  next,  has 
not  a lively  effect.  Yet,  for  half  the  night,  or  more,  Mr. 
Swiveller,  lying  sometimes  on  his  back  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
ceiling,  and  sometimes  half  out  of  bed  to  correct  himself  by 
the  book,  played  this  unhappy  tune  over  and  over  again ; 
never  leaving  off,  save  for  a minute  or  two  at  a time  to  take 
breath  and  soliloquize  about  the  Marchioness,  and  then 
beginning  again  with  renewed  vigor.  It  was  not  until  he 
had  quite  exhausted  his  several  subjects  of  meditation,  and 
had  breathed  into  the  flute  the  whole  sentiment  of  the  purl 
down  to  its  very  dregs,  and  had  nearly  maddened  the  people 
of  the  house,  and  at  both  the  next  doors,  and  over  the  way,  — 
that  he  shut  up  the  music-book,  extinguished  the  candle,  and 
finding  himself  greatly  lightened  and  relieved  in  his  mind, 
turned  round  and  fell  asleep. 

He  awoke  in  the  morning,  much  refreshed;  and  having- 
taken  half  an  hour’s  exercise  at  the  flute,  and  graciously  re- 
ceived a notice  to  quit  from  his  landlady,  who  had  been  in 


22 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


waiting  on  the  stairs  for  that  purpose  since  the  dawn  of  day, 
repaired  to  Bevis  Marks ; where  the  beautiful  Sally  was 
already  at  her  post,  bearing  in  her  looks  a radiance,  mild  as 
that  which  beameth  from  the  virgin  moon. 

Mr.  Swiveller  acknowledged  her  presence  by  a nod,  and 
exchanged  his  coat  for  the  aquatic  jacket ; which  usually  took 
some  time  fitting  on,  for  in  consequence  of  a tightness  in  the 
sleeves,  it  was  only  to  be  got  into  by  a series  of  struggles. 
This  difficulty  overcome,  he  took  his  seat  at  the  desk. 

“I  say”  — quoth  Miss  Brass,  abruptly  breaking  silence, 
“you.  haven’t  seen  a silver  pencil-case  this  morning,  have 
you  ? ” 

“I  didn’t  meet  many  in  the  street,”  rejoined  Mr.  Swiveller. 
“I  saw  one — a stout  pencil-case  of  respectable  appearance  — 
l but  as  he  was  in  company  with  an  elderly  pen-knife  and  a 
young  toothpick  with  whom  he  was  in  earnest  conversation,  I 
felt  a delicacy  in  speaking  to  him.” 

“No,  but  have  you?”  returned  Miss  Brass.  “Seriously, 
you  know.” 

“ What  a dull  dog  you  must  be  to  ask  me  such  a question 
seriously,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller.  “Haven’t  I this  moment 
come  ? ” 

“Well,  all  I know  is,”  replied  Miss  Sally,  “that  it’s  not  to 
be  found,  and  that  it  disappeared  one  day  this  week,  when  I 
left  it  on  the  desk.” 

“Halloa!”  thought  Bichard,  “I  hope  the  Marchioness 
hasn’t  been  at  work  here.” 

“There  was  a knife  too,”  said  Miss  Sally,  “of  the  same 
pattern.  They  were  given  to  me  by  my  father,  years  ago,  and 
are  both  gone.  You  haven’t  missed  anything  yourself,  have 
you  ? ” 

Mr.  Swiveller  involuntarily  clapped  his  hands  to  the  jacket 
to  be  quite  sure  that  it  ivas  a jacket  and  not  a skirted  coat ; 
and  having  satisfied  himself  of  the  safety  of  this,  his  only 
movable  in  Bevis  Marks,  made  answer  in  the  negative. 

“It’s  a very  unpleasant  thing,  Dick,”  said  Miss  Brass, 
pulling  out  the  tin  box  and  refreshing  herself  with  a pinch  of 
snuff ; “ but  between  you  and  me  — between  friends  you  know, 
for  if  Sammy  knew  it,  I should  never  hear  the  last  of  it  — some 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


23 


of  the  office-money,  too,  that  has  been  left  about,  has  gone  in 
the  same  way.  In  particular,  I have  missed  three  half-crowns 
at  three  different  times.” 

“You  don’t  mean  that?”  cried  Dick.  “Be  careful  what 
you  say,  old  boy,  for  this  is  a serious  matter.  Are  you  quite 
sure  ? Is  there  no  mistake  ? ” 

“It  is  so,  and  there  can’t  be  any  mistake  at  all,”  rejoined 
Miss  Brass,  emphatically. 

“Then  by  Jove,”  thought  Bichard,  laying  down  his  pen, 
“ I am  afraid  the  Marchioness  is  done  for  ! ” 

The  more  he  discussed  the  subject  in  his  thoughts,  the  more 
probable  it  appeared  to  Dick  that  the  miserable  little  servant 
was  the  culprit.  When  he  considered  on  what  a spare  allow- 
ance of  food  she  lived,  how  neglected  and  untaught  she  was, 
and  how  her  natural  cunning  had  been  sharpened  by  necessity 
and  privation,  he  scarcely  doubted  it.  And  yet  he  pitied  her 
so  much,  and  felt  so  unwilling  to  have  a matter  of  such  gravity 
disturbing  the  oddity  of  their  acquaintance,  that  he  thought, 
and  thought  truly,  that  rather  than  receive  fifty  pounds  down, 
he  would  have  the  Marchioness  proved  innocent. 

While  he  was  plunged  in  very  profound  and  serious  medi- 
tation upon  this  theme,  Miss  Sally  sat  shaking  her  head  with 
an  air  of  great  mystery  and  doubt ; when  the  voice  of  her 
brother  Sampson,  carolling  a cheerful  strain,  was  heard  in  the 
passage,  and  that  gentleman  himself,  beaming  with  virtuous 
smiles,  appeared. 

“ Mr.  Bichard,  sir,  good  morning  ! Here  we  are  again,  sir, 
entering  upon  another  day,  with  our  bodies  strengthened  by 
slumber  and  breakfast,  and  our  spirits  fresh  and  flowing. 
Here  we  are,  Mr.  Bichard,  rising  with  the  sun  to  run  our  little 
course  — our  course  of  duty,  sir  — and,  like  him,  to  get  through 
our  day’s  work  with  credit  to  ourselves  and  advantage  to 
our  fellow  creatures.  A charming  reflection,  sir,  very  charm- 
ing ! ” 

While  he  addressed  his  clerk  in  these  words,  Mr.  Brass  was, 
somewhat  ostentatiously,  engaged  in  minutely  examining  and 
holding  up  against  the  light  a five-pound  bank-note,  which  he 
had  brought  in,  in  his  hand. 

Mr.  Bichard  not  receiving  his  remarks  with  anything  like 


24 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


enthusiasm,  his  employer  turned  his  eyes  to  his  face,  and  ob- 
served that  it  wore  a troubled  expression. 

“ You’re  out  of  spirits,  sir,”  said  Brass.  “Mr.  Richard,  sir, 
we  should  fall  to  work  cheerfully,  and  not  in  a despondent 
state.  It  becomes  us,  Mr.  Richard,  sir,  to  — ” 

Here  the  chaste  Sarah  heaved  a loud  sigh. 

“Dear  me!”  said  Mr.  Sampson,  “you  too ! Is  anything 
the  matter  ? Mr.  Richard,  sir  — ” 

Dick,  glancing  at  Miss  Sally,  saw  that  she  was  making  sig- 
nals to  him,  to  acquaint  her  brother  with  the  subject  of  their 
recent  conversation.  As  his  own  position  was  not  a very 
pleasant  one  until  the  matter  was  set  at  rest  one  way  or  other, 
he  did  so ; and  Miss  Brass,  plying  her  snuff-box  at  a most 
wasteful  rate,  corroborated  his  account. 

The  countenance  of  Sampson  fell,  and  anxiety  overspread 
his  features.  Instead  of  passionately  bewailing  the  loss  of  his 
money,  as  Mi  ss  Sally  had  expected,  he  walked  on  tiptoe  to  the 
door,  opened  it,  looked  outside,  shut  it  softly,  returned  on  tip- 
toe, and  said  in  a whisper, 

“ This  is  a most  extraordinary  and  painful  circumstance  — 
Mr.  Richard,  sir,  a most  painful  circumstance.  The  fact  is, 
that  I myself  have  missed  several  small  sums  from  the  desk, 
of  late,  and  have  refrained  from  mentioning  it,  hoping  that 
accident  would  discover  the  offender ; but  iff  has  not  done  sc 
— it  has  not  done  so.  Sally  — Mr.  Richard,  sir  — this  is  a par- 
ticularly distressing  affair  ! ” 

As  Sampson  spoke,  he  laid  the  bank-note  upon  the  desk 
among  some  papers,  in  an  absent  manner,  and  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets.  Richard  Swiveller  pointed  to  it,  and  admon- 
ished him  to  take  it  up. 

“Ho,  Mr.  Richard,  sir,”  rejoined  Brass  with  emotion,  “I 
will  not  take  it  up.  I will  let  it  lie  there,  sir.  To  take  it  up, 
Mr.  Richard,  sir,*would  imply  a doubt  of  you  ; and  in  you/sir, 
I have  unlimited  confidence.  We  will  let  it  lie  there,  sir,  if 
you  please,  and  we  will  not  take  it  up  by  any  means.”  With 
that,  Mr.  Brass  patted  him  twice  or  thrice  on  the  shoulder,  in 
a*  most  friendly  manner,  and  entreated  him  to  believe  that  he 
had  as  much  faith  in  his  honesty  as  he  had  in  his  own. 

Although  at  another  time  Mr.  Swiveller  might  have  looked 


THE  OLD  CUB10SITY  SHOP. 


25 


upon  this  as  a doubtful  compliment,  he  felt  it,  under  the  then- 
existing  circumstance^  a great  relief  to  be  assured  that  he 
was  not  wrongfully  suspected.  When  lie  had  made  a suitable 
reply,  Mr.  Brass  wrung  him  by  the  hand,  and  fell  into  a brown 
study,  as  did  Miss  Sally  likewise.  Richard  too  remained  in  a 
thoughtful  state  ; fearing  every  moment  to  hear  the  Marchion- 
ess impeached,  and  unable  to  resist  the  conviction  that  she 
must  be  guilty. 

When  they  had  severally  remained  in  this  condition  for 
some  minutes,  Miss  Sally  all  at  once  gave  a loud  rap  upon  the 
desk  with  her  clenched  fist,  and  cried,  “ I’ve  hit  it ! ” — as  in- 
deed she  had,  and  chipped  a piece  out  of  it  too ; but  that  was 
not  her  meaning. 

“ Well,”  cried  Brass,  anxiously.  “ Go  on,  will  you?  ” 

“ Why,”  replied  his  sister,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  “ hasn’t 
there  been  somebody  always  coming  in  and  out  of  this  office 
for  the  last  three  or  four  weeks ; hasn’t  that  somebody  been 
left  alone  in  it  sometimes  — thanks  to  you ; and  do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  that  that  somebody  isn’t  the  thief ! ” 

“ What  somebody?  ” blustered  Brass. 

“ Why,  what  do  you  call  him  — Kit.” 

“ Mr.  Garland’s  young  man  ? ” 

“ To  be  sure.” 

“ Never  ! ” cried  Brass.  “ Never.  I’ll  not  hear  of  it.  Don’t 
tell  me  — ” said  Sampson,  shaking  his  head,  and  working 
with  both  his  hands  as  if  he  were  clearing  away  ten  thousand 
cobwebs.  “ I’ll  never  believe  it  of  him.  Never  ! ” 

“ I say,”  repeated  Miss  Brass,  taking  another  pinch  of  snuff, 
“ that  he’s  the  thief.” 

“I  say,”  returned  Sampson,  violently,  “that  he  is  not. 
What  do  you  mean  ? How  dare  you  ? Are  characters  to  be 
whispered  away  like  this  ? Do  you  know  that  he’s  the 
honestest  and  faithfullest  fellow  that  ever  lived,  and  that  he 
has  an  irreproachable  good  name  ? Come  in,  come  in ! ” 

These  last  words  were  not  addressed  to  Miss  Sally,  though 
they  partook  of  the  tone  in  which  the  indignant  remonstrances 
that  preceded  them  had  been  uttered.  They  were  addressed 
to  some  person  who  had  knocked  at  the  office-door ; and  they 


26 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


had  hardly  passed  the  lips  of  Mr.  Brass,  when  this  very  Kit 
himself  looked  in. 

“ Is  the  gentleman  np  stairs,  sir,  if  you  please  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Kit,”  said  Brass,  still  hred  with  an  honest  indigna- 
tion, and  frowning  with  knotted  brows  upon  his  sister;  “ Yes 
Kit,  he  is.  I am  glad  to  see  you  Kit,  I am  rejoiced  to  see 
you.  Look  in  again,  as  you  come  down  stairs,  Kit.  That  lad 
a robber  ! ” cried  Brass  when  he  had  withdrawn,  “ with  that 
frank  and  open  countenance  ! I’d  trust  him  with  untold  gold. 
Mr.  Richard,  sir,  have  the  goodness  to  step  directly  to  Wrasp 
and  Co.’s  in  Broad  Street,  and  inquire  if  they  have  had  instruc- 
tions to  appear  in  Carkem  and  Painter.  That  lad  a robber,” 
sneered  Sampson,  flushed  and  heated  with  his  wrath.  “ Am  I 
blind,,  deaf,  silly ; do  I know  nothing  of  human  nature  when  I 
see  it  before  me  ? Kit  a robber  ! Bah  ! ” 

Flinging  this  final  interjection  at  Miss  Sally  with  im- 
measurable scorn  and  contempt,  Sampson  Brass  thrust  his 
head  into  his  desk,  as  if  to  shut  the  base  world  from  his  view, 
and  breathed  defiance  from  under  its  half-closed  lid. 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


27 


CHAPTER  IY. 

When  Kit,  having  discharged  his  errand,  came  down  stairs 
from  the  single  gentleman’s  apartment  after  the  lapse  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  Mr.  Sampson  Brass  was  alone  in  the 
office.  He  was  not  singing  as  usual,  nor  was  he  seated  at  his 
desk.  The  open  door  showed  him  standing  before  the  fire 
with  his  back  towards  it,  and  looking  so  very  strange  that  Kit 
supposed  he  must  have  been  suddenly  taken  ill. 

“ Is  anything  the  matter,  sir  ? ” said  Kit. 

“ Matter  ! ” cried  Brass.  “No.  Why  anything  the  matter  ? ” 
“You  are  so  very  pale,”  said  Kit,  “that  I should  hardly 
have  known  you.” 

“Pooh  pooh!  mere  fancy,”  cried  Brass,  stooping  to  throw 
up  the  cinders.  “Never  better  Kit,  never  better  in  all  my 
life.  Merry  too.  Ha  ha ! How’s  our  friend  above  stairs,  eh  ? ” 
“ A great  deal  better,”  said  Kit. 

“I’m  glad  to  hear  it,”  rejoined  Brass;  “thankful,  I may 
say.  An  excellent  gentleman  — worthy,  liberal,  generous, 
gives  very  little  trouble  — an  admirable  lodger.  Ha  ha ! Mr. 
Garland — he’s  well  I hope,  Kit  — and  the  pony  — my^  friend, 
my  particular  friend  you  know.  Ha  ha  ! ” 

Kit  gave  a satisfactory  account  of  all  the  little  household 
at  Abel  Cottage.  Mr.  Brass,  who  seemed  remarkably  inatten- 
tive and  impatient,  mounted  on  his  stool,  and  beckoning  him 
to  come  nearer,  took  him  by  the  button-hole. 

“ I have  been  thinking,  Kit,”  said  the  lawyer,  “ that  I could 
throw  some  little  emoluments  into  your  mother’s  way — You 
have  a mother,  I think  ? If  I recollect  right,  you  told  me  — ” 
“ Oh  yes,  sir,  yes  certainly.” 

“A  widow  I think  ? an  industrious  widow  ? ” 

“ A harder-working  woman  or  a better  mother  never  lived, 


28 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


“ Ah  ! ” cried  Brass.  “ That’s  affecting,  truly  affecting. 
A poor  widow  struggling  to  maintain  her  orphans  in  decency 
and  comfort,  is  a delicious  picture  of  human  goodness.  — Put 
down  your  hat,  Kit.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,  I must  be  going  directly.” 

“Put  it  down  while  you  stay,  at  any  rate,”  said  Brass, 
taking  it  from  him  and  making  some  confusion  among  the 
papers,  in  finding  a place  for  it  on  the  desk.  “ I was  think- 
ing, Kit,  that  we  have  often  houses  to  let  for  people  we  are 
concerned  for,  and  matters  of  that  sort.  Now  you  know  we’re 
obliged  to  put  people  into  those  houses  to  take  care  of  ’em  — 
very  often  undeserving  people  that  we  can’t  depend  upon. 
What’s  to  prevent  our  having  a person  that  we  can  depend 
upon,  and  enjoying  the  delight  of  doing  a good  action  ,at  the 
same  time  ? I say,  what’s  to  prevent  our  employing  this 
worthy  woman,  your  mother  ? What  with  one  job  and 
another,  there’s  lodging  — and  good  lodging  too  — pretty  well 
all  the  year  round,  rent  free,  and  a weekly  allowance  besides, 
Kit,  that  would  provide  her  with  a great  many  comforts  she 
don’t  at  present  enjoy.  Now  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? Do 
you  see  any  objection  ? My  only  desire  is  to  serve  you,  Kit ; 
therefore  if  you  do,  say  so  freely.” 

As  Brass  spoke,  he  moved  the  hat  twice  or  thrice,  and 
shuffled  among  the  papers  again,  as  if  in  search  of  something. 

“How  can  I see  any  objection  to  such  a kind  offer,  sir?” 
replied  Kit  with  his  whole  heart.  “I  don’t  know  how  to 
thank  you,  sir,  I don’t  indeed.” 

“Why  then,”  said  Brass,  suddenly  turning  upon  him  and 
thrusting  his  face  close  to  Kit’s  with  such  a repulsive  smile 
that  the  latter,  even  in  the  very  height  of  his  gratitude,  drew 
back,  quite  startled.  “Why  then,  it’s  done” 

Kit  looked  at  him  in  some  confusion. 

“Done,  I say,”  added  Sampson,  rubbing  his  hands,  and 
veiling  himself  again  in  his  usual  oily  manner.  “ Ha  ha ! 
and  so  you  shall  find  Kit,  so  you  shall  find.  But  dear  me,” 
said  Brass,  “what  a time  Mr.  Bichard  is  gone  ! A sad  loiterer 
to  be  sure ! Will  you  mind  the  office  one  minute,  while  I run 
up  stairs  ? Only  one  minute.  I’ll  not  detain  you  an  instant 
longer,  on  any  account,  Kit.”  a 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


29 


Talking  as  he  went,  Mr.  Brass  bustled  out  of  the  office,  and 
in  a very  short  time  returned.  Mr.  Swiveller  came  back, 
almost  at  the  same  instant ; and  as  Kit  was  leaving  the  room 
hastily,  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  Miss  Brass  herself  encoun- 
tered him  in  the  doorway. 

“ Oh  ? ” sneered  Sally,  looking  after  him  as  she  entered. 
“ There  goes  your  pet,  Sammy,  eh  ? ” 

“Ah ! There  he  goes,”  replied  Brass.  “My  pet,  if  you 
please.  An  honest  fellow,  Mr.  Richard,  sir  — a worthy  fellow 
indeed  ! ” 

“ Hem  ! ” coughed  Miss  Brass. 

“I  tell  you,  you  aggravating  vagabond,”  said  the  angry 
Sampson,  “that  I’d  stake  my  life  upon  his  honesty.  Am  I 
never  to  hear  the  last  of  this  ? Am  I always  to  be  baited, 
and  beset,  by  your  mean  suspicions  ? Have  you  no  regard 
for  true  merit,  you  malignant  fellow  ? If  you  come  to  that, 
I’d  sooner  suspect  your  honesty  than  his.” 

Miss  Sally  pulled  out  the  tin  snuff-box,  and  took  a long, 
slow  pinch  : regarding  her  brother  with  a steady  gaze  all  the 
time. 

“ She  drives  me  wild,  Mr.  Richard,  sir,”  said  Brass,  “ she 
exasperates  me  beyond  all  bearing.  I am  heated  and  excited, 
sir,  I know  I am.  These  are  not  business  manners,  sir,  nor 
business  looks,  but  she  carries  me  out  of  myself.” 

“ Why  don’t  you  leave  him  alone  ? ” said  Dick. 

“Because  she  can’t,  sir,”  retorted  Brassy  “because  to  chafe 
and  vex  me  is  a part  of  her  nature,  sir,  and  she  will  and  must 
do  it,  or  I don’t  believe  she’d  have  her  health.  But  never 
mind,”  said  Brass,  “never  mind.  I’ve  carried  my  point.  I’ve 
shown  my  confidence  in  the  lad.  He  has  minded  the  office 
again.  Ha  ha ! Ugh,  you  viper  ! ” 

The  beautiful  virgin  took  another  pinch,  and  put  the  snuff- 
box in  her  pocket ; still  looking  at  her  brother  with  perfect 
composure. 

“ He  has  minded  the  office  again,”  said  Brass,  triumphantly; 
“ he  has  had  my  confidence,  and  he  shall  continue  to  have  it ; 
he  — why,  where’s  the  — ” 

“ What  have  you  lost  ? ” inquired  Mr.  Swiveller. 

“ Dear  me ! ” said  Brass,  slapping  all  his  pockets,  one  after 


30 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


another,  and  looking  into  his  desk,  and  under  it,  and  upon  it, 
and  wildly  tossing  the  papers  about,  “ the  note,  Mr.  Richard, 
sir,  the  five-pound  note  — what  can  have  become  of  it  ? I laid 
it  down  here  — God  bless  me  ! ” 

“ What ! ” cried  Miss  Sally,  starting  up,  clapping  her 
hands,  and  scattering  the  papers  on  the  floor.  “ Gone ! 
Now  who’s  right  ? Now  who’s,  got  it  ? Never  mind  five 
pounds  — what’s  five  pounds  ? He’s  honest  you  know,  quite 
honest.  It  would  be  mean  to  suspect  him.  Don’t  run  after 
him.  No,  no,  not  for  the  world!” 

“ Is  it  really  gone  though  ? ” said  Dick,  looking  at  Brass 
with  a face  as  pale  as  his  own. 

“Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Bichard,  sir,”  replied  the  lawyer,  feel- 
ing in  all  his  pockets  with  looks  of  the  greatest  agitation,  “ I 
fear  this  is  a black  business.  It’s  certainly  gone,  sir.  What’s 
to  be  done  ? ” 

“ Don’t  run  after  him,”  said  Miss  Sally,  taking  more  snuff. 
“Don’t  run  after  him  on  any  account.  Give  him  time  to  get 
rid  of  it,  you  know.  It  would  be  cruel  to  find  him  out ! ” 

Mr.  Swiveller  and  Sampson  Brass  looked  from  Miss  Sally  to 
each  other,  in  a state  of  bewilderment,  and  then,  as  by  one 
impulse,  caught  up  their  hats  and  rushed  out  into  the  street  — 
darting  along  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  dashing  aside  all 
obstructions,  as  though  they  were  running  for  their  lives. 

It  happened  that  Kit  had  been  running  too,  though  not  so 
fast,  and  having  the  start  of  them  by  some  few  minutes,  was 
a good  distance  ahead.  As  they  were  pretty  certain  of  the 
road  he  must  have  taken,  however,  and  kept  on  at  a great  pace, 
they  came  up  with  him,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  had 
taken  breath,  and  was  breaking  into  a run  again. 

“ Stop  ! ” cried  Sampson,  laying  his  hand  on  one  shoulder, 
while  Mr.  Swiveller  pounced  upon  the  other.  “Not  so  fast, 
sir.  You’re  in  a hurry  ? ” 

“Yes,  I am,”  said  Kit,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  in 
great  surprise. 

“I  — I — can  hardly  believe  it,”  panted  Sampson,  “ but 
something  of  value  is  missing  from  the  office.  I hope  you 
don’t  know  what.” 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


31 


“ Know  what ! good  Heaven,  Mr.  Brass  ! ” cried  Kit,  tremb- 
ling from  head  to  foot ; “ you  don’t  suppose  — ” 

“No,  no,”  rejoined  Brass,  quickly,  “I  don’t  suppose  any- 
thing. Don’t  say  I said  you  did.  You’ll  come  back  quietly,  I 
hope  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I will,”  returned  Kit.  “ Why  not  ? ” 

“ To  be  sure  ! ” said  Brass.  “Why  not  ? I hope  there  may 
turn  out  to  be  no  why  not.  If  you  knew  the  trouble  I’ve  been 
in,  this  morning,  through  taking  your  part,  Christopher,  you’d 
be  sorry  for  it.” 

“ And  I am  sure  you’ll  be  sorry  for  having  suspected  me, 
sir,”  replied  Kit.  “ Come.  Let  us  make  haste  back.” 

“Certainly!”  cried  Brass,  “the  quicker,  the  better.  Mr. 
Bichard — have  the  goodness,  sir,  to  take  that  arm.  I’ll  take 
this  one.  It’s  not  easy  walking  three  abreast,  but  under  these 
circumstances  it  must  be  done,  sir  5 there’s  no  help  for  it.” 

Kit  did  turn  from  white  to  red,  and  from  red  to  white  again, 
when  they  secured  him  thus,  and  for  a moment  seemed  dis- 
posed to  resist.  But,  quickly  recollecting  himself,  and  re- 
membering that  if  he  made  any  struggle,  he  would  perhaps 
be  dragged  by  the  collar  through  the  public  streets,  he  only 
repeated,  with  great  earnestness  and  with  the  tears  standing 
in  his  eyes,  that  they  would  be  sorry  for  this  — and  suffered 
them  to  lead  him  off.  While  they  were  on  the  way  back,  Mr. 
Swiveller,  upon  whom  his  present  functions  sat  very  irksomely, 
took  an  opportunity  of  whispering  in  his  ear  that  if  he  would 
confess  his  guilt,  even  by  so  much  as  a nod,  and  promise  not 
to  do  so  any  more,  he  would  connive  at  his  kicking  Sampson 
Brass  on  the  shins  and  escaping  up  a court ; but  Kit  indig- 
nantly rejecting  this  proposal,  Mr.  Bichard  had  nothing  for  it, 
but  to  hold  him  tight  until  they  reached  Bevis  Marks,  and 
ushered  him  into  the  presence  of  the  charming  Sarah,  who 
immediately  took  the  precaution  of  locking  the  door. 

“Kow,  you  know,”  said  Brass,  “ if  this  is  a case  of  innocence, 
it  is  a case  of  that  description,  Christopher,  where  the  fullest 
disclosure  is  the  best  satisfaction  for  everybody.  Therefore  if 
you’ll  consent  to  an  examination,”  he  demonstrated  what  kind 
of  examination  he  meant  by  turning  back  the  cuffs  of  his  coat, 
“ it  will  be  a comfortable  and  pleasant  thing  for  all  parties.” 


32 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


“ Search  me/’  said  Kit,  proudly  holding  up  his  arms.  “ But 
mind,  sir  — I know  you’ll  be  sorry  for  this,  to  the  last  day  of 
your  life.” 

“ It  is  certainly  a very  painful  occurrence,”  said  Brass  with  a 
sigh,  as  he  dived  into  one  of  Kit’s  pockets,  and  fished  up  a 
miscellaneous  collection  of  small  articles ; “ very  painful. 

Nothing  here,  Mr.  Bichard,  sir,  all  perfectly  satisfactory. 
Nor  here,  sir.  Nor  in  the  waistcoat,  Mr.  Bichard,  nor  in  the 
coat  tails.  So  far,  I am  rejoiced,  I am  sure.” 

Bichard  Swiveller,  holding  Kit’s  hat  in  his  hand,  was 
watching  the  proceedings  with  great  interest,  and  bore  upon 
his  face  the  slightest  possible  indication  of  a smile,  as  Brass, 
shutting  one  of  his  eyes,  looked  with  the  other  up  the  inside 
of  one  of  the  poor  fellow’s  sleeves  as  if  it  were  a telescope  — 
when  Sampson  turning  hastily  to  him,  bade  him  search  the 
hat. 

“ Here’s  a handkerchief,”  said  Dick. 

“No  harm  in  that,  sir,”  rejoined  Brass,  applying  his  eye  to 
the  other  sleeve,  and  speaking  in  the  voice  of  one  who  was 
contemplating  an  immense  extent  of  prospect.  “No  harm  in 
a handkerchief,  sir,  whatever.  The  faculty  don’t  consider  it  a 
healthy  custom,  I believe,  Mr.  Bichard,  to  carry  one’s  hand- 
kerchief in  one’s  hat  — I have  heard  that  it  keeps  the  head  too 
warm  — but  in  every  other  point  of  view,  its  being  there  is 
extremely  satisfactory  — ex-tremely  so.” 

An  exclamation,  at  once  from  Bichard  Swiveller,  Miss  Sally, 
and  Kit  himself,  cut  the  lawyer  short.  He  turned  his  head, 
and  saw  Dick  standing  with  the  bank-note  in  his  hand. 

“ In  the  hat  ? ” cried  Brass,  in  a sort  of  shriek. 

“ Under  the  handkerchief,  and  tucked  beneath  the  lining,” 
said  Dick,  aghast  at  the  discovery. 

Mr.  Brass  looked  at  him,  at  his  sister,  at  the  walls,  at  the 
ceiling,  at  the  floor  — everywhere  but  at  Kit,  who  stood  quite 
stupefied  and  motionless. 

“ And  this,”  cried  Sampson,  clasping  his  hands,  “ is  the 
world  that  turns  upon  its  own  axis,  and  has  Lunar  influences, 
and  revolutions  round  Heavenly  Bodies,  and  various  games  of 
that  sort ! This  is  human  natur,  is  it ! Oh  natur,  natur ! 
This  is  the  miscreant  that  I was  going  to  benefit  with  all  my 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


33 


little  arts,  and  that,  even  now,  I feel  so  much  for,  as  to  wish 
to  let  him  go ! ” But,  added  Mr.  Brass  with  greater  fortitude, 
“ I am  myself  a lawyer,  and  bound  to  set  an  example  in  carry- 
ing the  laws  of  my  happy  country  into  effect.  Sally  my  dear, 
forgive  me,  and  catch  hold  of  him  on  the  other  side.  Mr. 
Bichard,  sir,  have  the  goodness  to  run  and  fetch  a constable. 
The  weakness  is  past  and  over,  sir,  and  moral  strength  returns. 
A constable,  sir,  if  you  please  ! ” 

VOL.  II — 3 


34 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Kit  stood  as  one  entranced,  with  his  eyes  opened  wide  and 
fixed  upon  the  ground,  regardless  alike  of  the  tremulous  hold 
which  Mr.  Brass  maintained  on  one  side  of  his  cravat,  and  of 
the  firmer  grasp  of  Miss  Sally  upon  the  other;  although  this, 
latter  detention  was  in  itself  no  small  inconvenience,  as  that 
fascinating  woman,  besides  screwing  her  knuckles  incon- 
veniently into  his  throat  from  time  to  time,  had  fastened  upon 
him  in  the  first  instance  with  so  tight  a grip  that  even  in  the 
disorder  and  distraction  of  his  thoughts  he  could  not  divest 
himself  of  an  uneasy  sense  of  choking.  Between  the  brother 
and  sister  he  remained  in  this  posture,  quite  unresisting  and 
passive,  until  Mr.  Swiveller  returned,  with  a police  constable 
at  his  heels. 

This  functionary,  being,  of  course,  well  used  to  such  scenes ; 
looking  upon  all  kinds  of  robbery,  from  petty  larceny  up  to 
housebreaking  or  ventures  on  the  highway,  as  matters  in  the 
regular  course  of  business ; and  regarding  the  perpetrators  in 
the  light  of  so  many  customers  coming  to  be  served  at  the 
wholesale  and  retail  shop  of  criminal  law  where  he  stood  behind 
the  counter ; received  Mr.  Brass-  s statement  of  facts  with 
about  as  much  interest  and  surprise,  as  an  undertaker  might 
evince  if  required  to  listen  to  a circumstantial  account  of  the 
last  illness  of  a person  whom  he  was  6aljed  in  to  wait  upon 
professionally ; and  took  Kit  into  custody  with  a decent  indif- 
ference. 

“We  had  Better,”  said  this  subordinate  minister  of  justice, 
“ get  to  the  office  while  there’s  a magistrate  sitting.  I shall 
want  you  to  come  along  with  us,  Mr.  Brass,  and  the  — ” he 
looked  at  Miss  Sally  as  if  in  some  doubt  whether  she  might 
not  be  a griffin  or  other  fabulous  monster. 

“The  lady,  eh  ? ” said  Sampson. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


35 


“Ah  !”  replied  the  constable.  “Yes  — the  lady.  Likewise 
the  young  man  that  found  the  property.” 

“ Mr.  Richard,  sir,”  said  Brass  in  a mournful  voice.  “ A 
sad  necessity.  But  the  altar  of  our  country,  sir  — ” 

“ You’ll  have  a hackney  coach,  I suppose  ? ” interrupted  the 
constable,  holding  Kit  (whom  his  other  captors  had  released) 
carelessly  by  the  arm,  a little  above  the  elbow.  “ Be  so  good 
as  send  for  one,  will  you  ? ” 

“ But,  hear  me  speak  a word,”  cried  Kit,  raising  his  eyes 
and  looking  imploringly  about  him.  “ Hear  me  speak  a word. 
I am  no  more  guilty  than  any  one  of  you.  Upon  my  soul  I 
am  not.  I,  a thief ! Oh,  Mr.  Brass,  you  know  me  better.  I am 
sure  you  know  me  better.  This  is  not  right  of  you,  indeed.” 

“ I give  you  my  word,  constable  * — ” said  Brass.  But  here 
the  constable  interposed  with  the  constitutional  principle 
“words  be  blowed;”  observing  that  words  were  but  spoon- 
meat  for  babes  and  sucklings,  and  that  oaths  were  the  food 
for  strong  men. 

“ Quite  true,  constable,”  assented  Brass,  in  the  same  mourn- 
ful tone.  “ Strictly  correct.  I give  you  my  oath,  constable, 
that  down  to  a few  minutes  ago,  when  this  fatal  discovery  was 
made,  I had  such  confidence  in  that  lad,  that  Bd  have  trusted 
him  with  — a hackney  coach,  Mr.  Richard,  sir ; you’re  very 
slow,  sir.” 

“Who  is  there  that  knows  me,”  cried  Kit,  “that  would  not 
trust  me — that  does  not  ? Ask  anybody  whether  they  have 
ever  doubted  me;  whether  I have  ever  wronged  them  of  a 
farthing.  Was  I ever  once  dishonest  when  I was  poor  and 
hungry,  and  is  it  likely  I would  begin  now  ? Oh,  consider 
what  you  do.  How  can  I meet  the  kindest  friends  that  ever 
human  creature  had,  with  this  dreadful  charge  upon  me  ! ” 

Mr.  Brass  rejoined  that  it  would  have  been  well  for  the 
prisoner  if  he  had  thought  of  that  before,  and  was  about  to 
make  some  other  gloomy  observations,  when  the  voice  of  the 
single  gentleman  was  heard,  demanding  from  above  stairs 
what  was  the  matter,  and  what  was  the  cause  of  all  that 
noise  and  hurry.  Kit  made  an  involuntary  start  towards  the 
door  in  his  anxiety  to  answer  for  himself,  but  being  speedily 
detained  by  the  constable,  had  the  agony  of  seeing  Sampson 
Brass  run  out  alone  to  tell  the  story  in  his  own  way. 


36 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


“ And  he  can  hardly  believe  it,  either,”  said  Sampson,  when 
he  returned,  “nor  nobody  will.  I wish  I could  doubt  the 
evidence  of  my  senses,  but  their  depositions  are  unimpeach- 
able. It’s  of  no  use  cross-examining  my  eyes,”  cried  Sampson, 
winking  and  rubbing  them,  “^hey  stick  to  their  first  account, 
and  will.  Now,  Sarah,  I hear  the  coach  in  the  Marks ; get  on 
your  bonnet,  and  we’ll  be  off.  A sad  errand!  a moral  funeral, 
quite ! ” 

“ Mr.  Brass,”  said  Kit,  “ do  me  one  favor.  Take  me  to  Mr. 
Witherden’s  first.” 

Sampson  shook  his  head  irresolutely. 

“ Do,”  said  Kit.  “ My  master’s  there.  For  Heaven’s  sake, 
take  me  there,  first.” 

“Well,  I don’t  know,”  stammered  Brass,  who  perhaps  had 
his  reasons  for  wishing  to  show  as  fair  as  possible  in  the  eyes 
of  the  notary.  “ How  do  we  stand  in  point  of  time,  constable, 
eh?” 

The  constable,  who  had  been  chewing  a straw  all  this  while 
with  great  philosophy,  replied  that  if  they  went  away  at  once 
they  would  have  time  enough,  but  if  they  stood  shilly-shally- 
ing there,  any  longer, > they  must  go  straight  to  the  Mansion 
House  ; and  finally  expressed  his  opinion  that  that  was  where 
it  was,  and  that  was  all  about  it. 

Mr.  Bichard  Swiveller  having  arrived  inside  the  coach,  and 
still  remaining  immovable  in  the  most  commodious  corner 
with  his  face  to  the  horses,  Mr.  Brass  instructed  the  officer 
to  remove  his  prisoner,  and  declared  himself  quite  ready. 
Therefore,  the  constable,  still  holding  Kit  in  the  same  manner, 
and  pushing  him  on  a little  before  him,  so  as  to  keep  him  at 
about  three  quarters  of  an  arm’s  length  in  advance  (which  is 
the  professional  mode),  thrust  him  into  the  vehicle  and  fol- 
lowed himself.  Miss  Sally  entered  next;  and  there  being  now 
four  inside,  Sampson  Brass  got  upon  the  box,  and  made  the 
coachman  drive  on. 

Still  completely  stunned  by  the  sudden  and  terrible  change 
which  had  taken  place  in  his  affairs,  Kit  sat  gazing  out  of  the 
coach  window,  almost  hoping  to  see  some  monstrous  phenom- 
enon in  the  streets  which  might  give  him  reason  to  believe 
he  was  in  a dream.  Alas!  Everything  was  too  real  and 


THE  OLD  CUEIOSITY  SHOP. 


37 


familiar:  the  same  succession  of  turnings,  the  same  houses, 
the  same  streams  of  people  running  side  by  side  in  different 
directions  upon  the  pavement,  the  same  bustle  of  carts  and 
carriages  in  the  road,  the  same  well-remembered  objects  in 
the  shop  windows : a regularity  in  the  very  noise  and  hurry 
which  no  dream  ever  mirrored.  Dream-like  as  the  story  was, 
it  was  true.  He  stood  charged  with  robbery ; the  note  had 
been  found  upon  him,  though  he  was  innocent  in  thought  and 
deed ; and  they  were  carrying  him  back  a prisoner. 

Absorbed  in  these  painful  ruminations,  thinking  with  a 
drooping  heart  of  his  mother  and  little  Jacob,  feeling  as 
though  even  the  consciousness  of  innocence  would  be  insuffi- 
cient to  support  him  in  the  presence  of  his  friends  if  they 
believed  him  guilty,  and  sinking  in  hope  and  courage  more 
and  more  as  they  drew  nearer  to  the  Notary’s,  poor  Kit  was 
looking  earnestly  out  of  the  window,  observant  of  nothing,  — 
when  all  at  once,  as  though  it  had  been  conjured  up  by  magic, 
he  became  aware  of  the  face  of  Quilp. 

And  what  a leer  there  was  upon  the  face ! It  was  from 
the  open  window  of  a tavern  that  it  looked  out ; and  the 
dwarf  had  so  spread  himself  over  it,  with  his  elbows  on  the 
window-sill  and  his  head  resting  on  both  his  hands,  that  what 
between  this  attitude  and  his  being  swollen  with  suppressed 
laughter  he  looked  puffed  and  bloated  into  twice  his  usual 
breadth.  Mr.  Brass,  on  recognizing  him,  immediately  stopped 
the  coach.  As  it  came  to  a halt  directly  opposite  to  where  he 
stood,  the  dwarf  pulled  off  his  hat,  and  saluted  the  party  with 
a hideous  and  grotesque  politeness. 

“ Aha ! ” he  cried.  “ Where  now,  Brass  ? where  now  ? 
Sally  with  you  too  ? Sweet  Sally ! And  Dick  ? Pleasant 
Dick ! And  Kit  ? Honest  Kit ! ” 

“ He’s  extremely  cheerful ! ” said  Brass  to  the  coachman. 
“ Very  much  so  ! Ah  sir  — a sad  business  ! Never  believe  in 
honesty  any  more,  sir.” 

“ Why  not  ? ” returned  the  dwarf.  “ Why  not,  you  rogue 
of  a lawyer,  why  not  ? ” 

“Bank  note  lost  in  our  office,  sir,”  said  Brass,  shaking  his 
head.  “Found  in  his  hat,  sir  — he  previously  left  alone  there 


88 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


— no  mistake  at  all,  sir  — chain  of  evidence  complete  — not  a 
link  wanting.” 

“ What ! ” cried  the  dwarf,  leaning  half  his  body  out  of 
window,  u Kit  a thief ! Kit  a thief ! Ha  ha  ha ! Why, 
he’s  an  uglier-]  ooking  thief  than  can  be  seen  anywhere  for  a 
penny.  Eh  Kit  — eh  ? Ha  ha  ha ! Have  you  taken  Kit  into 
custody  before  he  had  time  and  opportunity  to  beat  me  ! Eh 
Kit,  eh  ? ” And  with  that,  he  burst  into  a yell  of  laughter, 
manifestly  to  the  great  terror  of  the  coachman,  and  pointed  to 
a dyer’s  pole  hard  by,  where  a dangling  suit  of  clothes  bore 
some  resemblance  to  a man  upon  a gibbet. 

u Is  it  coming  to  that,  Kit  ! ” cried  the  dwarf,  rubbing  his 
hands  violently.  “ Ha  ha  ha  ha  ! What  a disappointment 
for  little  Jacob,  and  for  his  darling  mother  ! Let  him  have 
the  Bethel  minister  to  comfort  and  console  him,  Brass.  Eh 
Kit,  eh  ? Drive  on  coachey,  drive  on.  Bye  bye  Kit ; all  good 
go  with  you  ; keep  up  your  spirits  ; my  love  to  the  Garlands 

— the  dear  old  lady  and  gentleman.  Say  I inquired  after  ’em, 
will  you  ? Blessings  on  ’em,  and  on  you,  and  on  everybody, 
Kit.  Blessings  on  all  the  world ! ” 

With  such  good  wishes  and  farewells,  poured  out  in  a rapid 
torrent  until  they  were  out  of  hearing,  Quilp  suffered  them  to 
depart;  and  when  he  could  see  the  coach  no  longer,  drew  in 
his  head,  and  rolled  upon  the  ground  in  the  ecstasy  of  enjoy- 
ment. 

When  they  reached  the  Notary’s,  which  they  were  not  long 
in  doing,  for  they  had  encountered  the  dwarf  in  a by  street 
at  a very  little  distance  from  the  house,  Mr.  Brass  dismounted ; 
and  opening  the  coach  door  with  a melancholy  visage,  re- 
quested his  sister  to  accompany  him  into  the  office,  with  the 
view  of  preparing  the  good  people  within  for  the  mournful 
intelligence  that  awaited  them.  Miss  Sally  complying,  he 
desired  Mr.  Swiveller  to  accompany  them.  So,  into  the  office 
they  went ; Mr.  Sampson  and  his  sister  arm-in-arm ; and  Mr. 
Swiveller  following,  alone. 

The  Notary  was  standing  before  the  fire  in  the  outer  office, 
talking  to  Mr.  Abel  and  the  elder  Mr.  Garland,  while  Mr. 
Chuckster  sat  writing  at  the  desk,  picking  up  such  crumbs  of 
their  conversation  as  happened  to  fall  in  his  way.  This 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


39 


posture  of  affairs  Mr.  Brass  observed  through  the  glass-door 
as  he  was  turning  the  handle,  and  seeing  that  the  Notary  rec- 
ognized him,  he  began  to  shake  his  head  and  sigh  deeply  while 
that  partition  yet  divided  them. 

“Sir,”  said  Sampson,  taking  off  his  hat,  and  kissing  the 
two  forefingers  of  his  right  hand  beaver  glove,  “ my  name  is 
Brass  — Brass  of  Bevis  Marks,  sir.  I have  had  the  honor  and 
pleasure,  sir,  of  being  concerned  against  you  in  some  little 
testamentary  matters.  How  do  you  do,  sir  ? ” 

“ My  clerk  will  attend  to  any  business  you  may  have  come 
upon,  Mr.  Brass,”  said  the  Notary,  turning  away. 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  Brass,  “ thank  you,  I am  sure. 
Allow  me,  sir,  to  introduce  my  sister  — quite  one  of  us,  sir, 
although  of  the  weaker  sex  — of  great  use  in  my  business,  sir, 
I assure  you.  Mr.  Richard,  sir,  have  the  goodness  to  come 
forward  if  you  please — No  really,”  said  Brass,  stepping 
between  the  Notary  and  his  private  office  (towards  which  he 
had  begun  to  retreat),  and  speaking  in  the  tone  of  an  injured 
man,  “ really,  sir,  I must,  under  favor,  request  a word  or  two 
with  you,  indeed.” 

“ Mr.  Brass,”  said  the  other,  in  a decided  tone,  “I  am  engaged. 
You  see  that  I am  occupied  with  these  gentlemen.  If  you 
will  communicate  your  business  to  Mr.  Chuckster  yonder,  you 
will  receive  every  attention.” 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Brass,  laying  his  right  hand  on  his  waist- 
coat, and  looking  towards  the  father  and  son  with  a smooth 
smile  — “ Gentlemen,  I appeal  to  you  — really,  gentlemen  — 
consider,  I beg  of  you.  I am  of  the  law.  I am  styled  * gentle- 
man ’ by  Act  of  Parliament.  I maintain  the  title  by  the 
annual  payment  of  twelve  pounds  sterling  for  a certificate.  I 
am  not  one  of  your  players  of  music,  stage  actors,  writers  of 
books,  or  painters  of  pictures,  who  assume  a station  that  the 
laws  of  their  country  don’t  recognize.  I am  none  of  your 
strollers  or  vagabonds.  If  any  man  brings  his  action  against 
me,  he  must  describe  me  as  a gentleman,  or  his  action  is  null 
and  void.  I appeal  to  you  — is  this  quite  respectful  ? Really, 
gentlemen  — ” 

“Well,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  state  your  business 
then,  Mr.  Brass  ? ” said  the  Notary. 


40 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


“Sir,”  rejoined  Brass,  UI  will.  Ah,  Mr.  Witherden ! you 
little  know  the  — but  I will  not  be  tempted  to  travel  from  the 
point,  sir.  I believe  the  name  of  one  of  these  gentlemen  is 
Garland.” 

“ Of  both,”  said  the  Notary. 

“Indeed!”  rejoined  Brass,  cringing  excessively.  “But  I 
might  have  known  that,  from  the  uncommon  likeness.  Ex- 
tremely happy,  I am  sure,  to  have  the  honor  of  an  introduc- 
tion to  two  such  gentlemen,  although  the  occasion  is  a most 
painful  one.  One  of  you  gentlemen  has  a servant  called  Kit  ? ” 

“Both,”  replied  the  Notary. 

“ Two  Kits  ? ” said  Brass,  smiling.  “ Dear  me  ! ” 

“One  Kit,  sir,”  returned  Mr.  Witherden,  angrily,  “who  is 
employed  by  both  gentlemen.  What  of  him  ? ” 

“ This  of  him  sir,”  rejoined  Brass,  dropping  his  voice 
impressively.  “ That  young  man,  sir,  that  I have  felt 
unbounded  and  unlimited  confidence  in,  and  always  behaved 
to  as  if  he  was  my  equal  — that  young  man  has  this*  morning 
committed  a robbery  in  my  office,  and  been  taken  almost  in 
the  fact.” 

“ This  must  be  some  falsehood ! ” cried  the  Notary. 

“ It  is  not  possible,”  said  Mr.  Abel. 

“ I’ll  not  believe  one  word  of  it,”  exclaimed  the  old  gentle- 
man. 

Mr.  Brass  looked  mildly  round  upon  them,  and  rejoined : 

“Mr.  Witherden,  sir,  your  words  are  actionable,  and  if  I 
was  a man  of  low  and  mean  standing,  who  couldn’t  afford  to 
be  slandered,  I should  proceed  for  damages.  Hows’ever,  sir, 
being  what  I am,  I merely  scorn  such  expressions.  The 
honest  warmth  of  the  other  gentleman  I respect,  and  I’m 
truly  sorry  to  be  the  messenger  of  such  unpleasant  news.  I 
shouldn’t  have  put  myself  in  this  painful  position,  I assure 
you,  but  that  the  lad  himself  desired  to  be  brought  here  in 
the  first  instance,  and  I yielded  to  his  prayers.  Mr.  Chuckster, 
sir,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  tap  at  the  window  for  the 
constable  that’s  waiting  in  the  coach  ? ” 

The  three  gentlemen  looked  at  each  other  with  blank  faces 
when  these  words  were  uttered,  and  Mr.  Chuckster,  doing  as 
he  was  desired,  and  leaping  off  his  stool  with  something  of 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


41 


the  excitement  of  an  inspired  prophet  whose  foretellings  had 
in  the  fulness  of  time  been  realized,  held  the  door  open  for  the 
entrance  of  the  wretched  captive. 

Such  a scene  as  there  was,  when  Kit  came  in,  and  bursting 
into  the  rude  eloquence  with  which  Truth  at  length  inspired 
him,  called  Heaven  to  witness  that  he  was  innocent,  and  that 
how  the  property  came  to  be  found  upon  him  he  knew  not ! 
Such  a confusion  of  tongues,  before  the  circumstances  were 
related,  and  the  proofs  disclosed ! Such  a dead  silence  when 
all  was  told,  and  his  three  friends  exchanged  looks  of  doubt 
and  amazement ! 

“Is  it  not  possible,”  said  Mr.  Witherden,  after  a long  pause, 
“ that  this  note  may  have  found  its  way  into  the  hat  by  some 
accident,  — such  as  the  removal  of  papers  on  the  desk,  for 
instance  ? ” 

But,  this  was  clearly  shown  to  be  quite  impossible.  Mr. 
Swiveller,  though  an  unwilling  witness,  could  not  help  proving 
to  demonstration,  from  the  position  in  which  it  was  found, 
that  it  must  have  been  designedly  secreted. 

“ It’s  very  distressing,”  said  Brass,  “ immensely  distressing, 
I am  sure.  When  he  comes  to  be  tried,  I shall  be  very  happy 
to  recommend  him  to  mercy  on  account  of  his  previous  good 
character.  I did  lose  money  before,  certainly,  but  it  doesn’t 
quite  follow  that  he  took  it.  The  presumption’s  against  him 
— strongly  against  him  — but  we’re  Christians,  I hope  ? ” 

“I  suppose,”  said  the  constable,  looking  round,  “that  no 
gentleman  here,  can  give  evidence  as  to  whether  he’s  been 
flush  of  money  of  late.  Do  you  happen  to  know,  sir  ? ” 

“ He  has  had  money  from  time  to  time,  certainly,”  returned 
Mr.  Garland,  to  whom  the  man  had  put  the  question.  “ But 
that,  as  he  always  told  me,  was  given  him  by  Mr.  Brass 
himself.” 

“Yes  to  be  sure,”  said  Kit,  eagerly.  “You  can  bear  me  out 
in  that,  sir  ? ” 

“ Eh  ? ” cried  Brass,  looking  from  face  to  face  with  an 
expression  of  stupid  amazement. 

“ The  money  you  know,  the  half-crowns  that  you  gave  me  — 
from  the  lodger,”  said  Kit. 

“ Oh  dear  me  ! ” cried  Brass,  shaking  his  head  and  frowning 


42 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


heavily.  “This  is  a bad  case,  I find!  a very  bad  case  in- 
deed.” 

“ What ! Did  you  give  him  no  money  on  account  of  any- 
body, sir  ? ” asked  Mr.  Garland,  with  great  anxiety. 

“ I give  him  money,  sir  ! ” returned  Sampson.  “ Oh,  come 
you  know,  this  is  too  barefaced.  Constable,  my  good  fellow, 
we  had  better  be  going.” 

“ What ! ” shrieked  Kit.  “ Does  he  deny  that  he  did  ? ask 
him,  somebody,  pray.  Ask  him  to  tell  you  whether  he  did  or 
not ! ” 

“ Did  you,  sir  ? ” asked  the  Notary. 

“ I tell  you  what,  gentlemen,”  replied  Brass,  in  a very  grave 
manner,  “he’ll  not  serve  his  case  this  way,  and  really,  if  you 
feel  any  interest  in  him,  you  had  better  advise  him  to  go  upon 
some  other  tack.  Did  I,  sir  ? Of  course  I never  did.” 

“ Gentlemen,”  cried  Kit,  on  whom  a light  broke  suddenly, 
“Master,  Mr.  Abel,  Mr.  Witherden,  every  one  of  you  — he  did 
it ! What  I have  done  to  offend  him,  I don’t  know,  but  this 
is  a plot  to  ruin  me.  Mind,  gentlemen,  it’s  a plot,  and  what- 
ever comes  of  it,  I will  say  with  my  dying  breath  that  he  put 
that  note  in  my  hat  himself ! Look  at  him,  gentlemen  ! See 
how  he  changes  color.  Which  of  us  looks  the  guilty  person 
— he  or  I ? ” 

“You  hear  him,  gentlemen?”  said  Brass,  smiling,  “you 
hear  him.  Now,  does  this  case  strike  you  as  assuming  rather 
a black  complexion,  or  does  it  not  ? Is  it  at  all  a treacherous 
case,  do  you  think,  or  is  it  one  of  mere  ordinary  guilt  ? Per- 
haps, gentlemen,  if  he  had  not  said  this  in  your  presence  and 
I had  reported  it,  you’d  have  held  this  to  be  impossible  like- 
wise, eh  ? ” 

With  such  pacific  and  bantering  remarks  did  Mr.  Brass 
refute  the  foul  aspersion  on  his  character;  but  the  virtuous 
Sarah,  moved  by  stronger  feelings,  and  having  at  heart,  per- 
haps, a more  jealous  regard  for  the  honor  of  her  family,  flew 
from  her  brother’s  side,  without  any  previous  intimation  of 
her  design,  and  darted  at  the  prisoner  with  the  utmost  fury. 
It  would  undoubtedly  have  gone  hard  with  Kit’s  face,  but  that 
the  wary  constable,  foreseeing  her  design,  drew  him  aside  at 
the  critical  moment,  and  thus  placed  Mr.  Chuckster  in  circum- 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


43 


stances  of  some  jeopardy ; for  that  gentleman  happening  to  be 
next  the  object  of  Miss  Brass’s  wrath ; and  rage  being,  like 
love  and  fortune,  blind,  was  pounced  upon  by  the  fair  enslaver, 
and  had  a false  collar  plucked  up  by  the  roots,  and  his  hair 
very  much  dishevelled,  before  the  exertions  of  the  company 
could  make  her  sensible  of  her  mistake. 

The  constable,  taking  warning  by  this  desperate  attack,  and 
thinking  perhaps  that  it  would  be  more  satisfactory  to  the 
ends  of  justice  if  the  prisoner  were  taken  before  a magistrate, 
whole,  rather  than  in  small  pieces,  led  him  back  to  the 
hackney-coach  without  more  ado,  and  moreover  insisted  on 
Miss  Brass  becoming  an  outside  passenger ; to  which  proposal 
the  charming  creature,  after  a little  angry  discussion,  yielded 
her  consent ; and  so  took  her  brother  Sampson’s  place  upon 
the  box : Mr.  Brass  with  some  reluctance  agreeing  to  occupy 
her  seat  inside.  These  arrangements  perfected,  they  drove  to 
the  justice-room  with  all  speed,  followed  by  the  Notary  and 
his  two  friends  in  another  coach.  Mr.  Chuckster  alone  was 
left  behind  — greatly  to  his  indignation;  for  he  held  the 
evidence  he  could  have  given,  relative  to  Kit’s  returning  to 
work  out  the  shilling,  to  be  so  very  material  as  bearing  upon 
his  hypocritical  and  designing  character,  that  he  considered 
its  suppression  little  better  than  a compromise  of  felony. 

At  the  justice-room  they  found  the  single  gentleman,  who 
had  gone  straight  there,  and  was  expecting  them  with  desper- 
ate impatience.  But,  not  fifty  single  gentlemen  rolled  into 
one  could  have  helped  poor  Kit,  who  in  half  an  hour  after- 
wards was  committed  for  trial,  and  was  assured  by  a friendly 
officer  on  his  way  to  prison  that  there  was  no  occasion  to  be 
cast  down,  for  the  sessions  would  soon  be  on,  and  he  would,  in 
all  likelihood,  get  his  little  affair  disposed  of,  and  be  com- 
fortably transported,  in  less  than  a fortnight. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


44 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Let  moralists  and  philosophers  say  what  they  may,  it  is 
very  questionable  whether  a guilty  man  would  have  felt  half 
as  much  misery  that  night,  as  Kit  did,  being  innocent.  The 
world,  being  in  the  constant  commission  of  vast  quantities  of 
injustice,  is  a little  too  apt  to  comfort  itself  with  the  idea  that 
if  the  victim  of  its  falsehood  and  malice  have  a clear  con- 
science, he  cannot  fail  to  be  sustained  under  his  trials,  and 
somehow  or  other  to  come  right  at  last ; “ in  which  case,”  say 
they  who  have  hunted  him  down,  “ — though  we  certainly 
don’t  expect  it  — nobody  will  be  better  pleased  than  we.” 
Whereas,  the  world  would  do  well  to  reflect,  that  injustice  is 
in  itself,  to  every  generous  and  properly  constituted  mind,  an 
injury,  of  all  others  the  most  insufferable,  the  most  torturing, 
and  the  most  hard  to  bear ; and  that  many  clear  consciences 
have  gone  to  their  account  elsewhere,  and  many  sound  hearts 
have  broken,  because  of  this  very  reason ; the  knowledge  of 
their  own  deserts  only  aggravating  their  sufferings,  and  ren- 
dering them  the  less  endurable. 

The  world,  however,  was  not  in  fault  in  Kit’s  case.  But, 
Kit  was  innocent ; and  knowing  this,  and  feeling  that  his  best 
friends  deemed  him  guilty  — that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Garland  would 
look  upon  him  as  a monster  of  ingratitude  — that  Barbara 
would  associate  him  with  all  that  was  bad  and  criminal  — that 
the  pony  would  consider  himself  forsaken  — and  that  even  his 
own  mother  might  perhaps  yield  to  the  strong  appearances 
against  him,  and  believe  him  to  be  the  wretch  he  seemed  — 
knowing  and  feeling  all  this,  he  experienced,  at  first,  an  agony 
of  mind  which  no  words  can  describe,  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  little  cell  in  which  he  was  locked  up  for  the  night, 
almost  beside  himself  with  grief. 

Even  when  the  violence  of  these  emotions  had  in  some 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


45 


degree  subsided,  and  he  was  beginning  to  grow  more  calm, 
there  came  into  his  mind  a new  thought,  the  anguish  of 
which  was  scarcely  less.  The  child  — the  bright  star  of  the 
simple  fellow’s  life  — she,  who  always  came  back  upon  him 
like  a beautiful  dream,  — who  had  made  the  poorest  part  of 
his  existence  the  happiest  and  best,  — who  had  ever  been  so 
gentle,  and  considerate,  and  good  — if  she  were  ever  to  hear 
of  this,  what  would  she  think ! As  this  idea  occurred  to  him, 
the  walls  of  the  prison  seemed  to  melt  away,  and  the  old  place 
to  reveal  itself  in  their  stead,  as  it  was  wont  to  be  on  winter 
nights  — the  fireside,  the  little  supper-table,  the  old  man’s  hat, 
and  coat,  and  stick  — the  half-opened  door,  leading  to  her  little 
room  — they  were  all  there.  And  Nell  herself  was  there,  and 
he — both  laughing  heartily  as  they  had  often  done  — and 
when  he  had  got  as  far  as  this,  Kit  could  go  no  farther,  but 
flung  himself  upon  his  poor  bedstead  and  wept. 

It  was  a long  night,  which  seemed  as  though  it  would  have 
no  end ; but  he  slept  too,  and  dreamed  — always  of  being  at 
liberty,  and  roving  about,  now  with  one  person  and  now  with 
another,  but  ever  with  a vague  dread  of  being  recalled  to 
prison;  not  that  prison,  but  one  which  was  in  itself  a dim 
idea  — not  of  a place,  but  of  a care  and  sorrow : of  something 
oppressive  and  always  present,  and  yet  impossible  to  define. 
At  last,  the  morning  dawned,  and  there  was  the  jail  itself  — 
cold,  black,  and  dreary,  and  very  real  indeed. 

He  was  left  to  himself,  however,  and  there  was  comfort  in 
that.  He  had  liberty  to  walk  in  a small  paved  yard  at  a cer- 
tain hour,  and  learnt  from  the  turnkey,  who  came  to  unlock 
his  cell  and  show  him  where  to  wash,  that  there  was  a regular 
time  for  visiting,  every  day,  and  that  if  any  of  his  friends 
came  to  see  him,  he  would  be  fetched  down  to  the  grate. 
When  he  had  given  him  this  information,  and  a tin  porringer 
containing  his  breakfast,  the  man  locked  him  up  again ; and 
went  clattering  along  the  stone  passage,  opening  and  shutting 
a great  many  other  doors,  and  raising  numberless  loud  echoes 
which  resounded  through  the  building  for  a long  time,  as  if 
they  were  in  prison  too,  and  unable  to  get  out. 

This  turnkey  had  given  him  to  understand  that  he  was 
lodged,  like  some  few  others  in  the  jail,  apart  from  the  mass 


46 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


of  prisoners ; because  he  was  not  supposed  to  be  utterly 
depraved  and  irreclaimable,  and  had  never  occupied  apart- 
ments in  that  mansion  before.  Kit  was  thankful  for  this 
indulgence,  and  sat  reading  the  church  catechism  very  atten- 
tively (though  he  had  known  it  by  heart  from  a little  child), 
until  he  heard  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  the  man  entered 
again. 

“Now  then,”  he  said,  “come  on ! ” 

“ Where  to,  sir  ? ” asked  Kit. 

The  man  contented  himself  by  briefly  replying  “ Wisitors ; ” 
and  taking  him  by  the  arm  in  exactly  the  same  manner  as  the 
constable  had  done  the  day  before,  led  him,  through  several 
winding  ways  and  strong  gates,  into  a passage,  where  he 
placed  him  at  a grating  and  turned  upon  his  heel.  Beyond 
this  grating,  at  the  distance  of  about  four  or  five  feet,  was 
another,  exactly  like  it.  In  the  space  between,  sat  a turnkey 
reading  a newspaper;  and  outside  the  further  railing,  Kit 
saw,  with  a palpitating  heart,  his  mother  with  the  baby  in  her 
arms  ; Barbara’s  mother  with  her  never-failing  umbrella ; and 
poor  little  Jacob,  staring  in  with  all  his  might,  as  though  he 
were  looking  for  the  bird,  or  the  wild  beast,  and  thought  the 
men  were  mere  accidents  with  whom  the  bars  could  have  no 
possible  concern. 

But  when  little  Jacob  saw  his  brother,  and,  thrusting  his 
arms  between  the  rails  to  hug  him,  found  that  he  came  no 
nearer,  but  still  stood  afar  off  with  his  head  resting  on  the 
arm  by  which  he  held  to  one  of  the  bars,  he  began  to  cry  most 
piteously ; whereupon,  Kit’s  mother  and  Barbara’s  mother, 
who  had  restrained  themselves  as  much  as  possible,  burst  out 
sobbing  and  weeping  afresh.  Poor  Kit  could  not  help  joining 
them,  and  not  one  of  them  could  speak  a word. 

During  this  melancholy  pause  the  turnkey  read  his  news- 
paper with  a waggish  look  (he  had  evidently  got  among  the 
facetious  paragraphs)  until,  happening  to  take  his  eyes  off  it 
for  an  instant,  as  if  to  get  by  dint  of  contemplation  at  the 
very  marrow  of  some  joke  of  a deeper  sort  than  the  rest,  it 
appeared  to  occur  to  him,  for  the  first  time,  that  somebody 
was  crying. 

“Now,  ladies,  ladies,”  he  said,  looking  round  with  surprise, 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


47 


" I?d  advise  you  not  to  waste  time  like  this.  It’s  allowanced 
here,  you  know.  You  mustn’t  let  that  child  make  that  noise 
either.  It’s  against  all  rules.” 

“I’m  his  poor  mother,  sir,”  sobbed  Mrs.  Nubbles,  courtesy- 
ing  humbly,  “and  this  is  his  brother,  sir.  Oh  dear  me, 
dear  me ! ” 

“ Well ! ” replied  the  turnkey,  folding  his  paper  on  his 
knee,  so  as  to  get  with  greater  convenience  at  the  top  of  the 
next  column.  “ It  can’t  be  helped,  you  know.  He  an’t  the 
onlv  one  in  the  same  fix.  You  mustn’t  make  a noise  about 
it!” 

With  that  he  went  on  reading.  The  man  was  not  naturally 
cruel  or  hard-hearted.  He  had  come  to  look  upon  felony  as 
a kind  of  disorder,  like  the  scarlet  fever  or  erysipelas  : some 
people  had  it  — some  hadn’t  — just  as  it  might  be. 

“ Oh ! my  darling  Kit,”  said  his  mother,  whom  Barbara’s 
mother  had  charitably  relieved  of  the  baby,  “that  I should 
see  my  poor  boy  here  ! ” 

“ You  don’t  believe  I did  what  they  accuse  me  of,  mother 
dear  ? ” cried  Kit,  in  a choking  voice. 

“/believe  it ! ” exclaimed  the  poor  woman,  “/,  that  never 
knew  you  tell  a lie,  or  do  a bad  action  from  your  cradle  — 
that  have  never  had  a moment’s  sorrow  on  your  account, 
except  it  was  for  the  poor  meals  that  you  have  taken  with 
such  good-humor  and  content  that  I forgot  how  little  there 
was,  when  I thought  how  kind  and  thoughtful  you  were, 
though  you  were  but  a child ! — I believe  it  of  the  son  that’s 
been  a comfort  to  me  from  the  hour  of  his  birth  to  this  time, 
and  that  I never  laid  down  one  night  in  anger  with  ! I believe 
it  of  you,  Kit ! — ” 

“ Why  then,  thank  God  ! ” said  Kit,  clutching  the  bars  with 
an  earnestness  that  shook  them,  “ and  I can  bear  it,  mother ! 
Come  what  may,  I shall  always  have  one  drop  of  happiness 
in  my  heart  when  I think  that  you  said  that.” 

At  this,  the  poor  woman  fell  a crying  again,  and  Barbara’s 
mother  too.  And  little  Jacob,  whose  disjointed  thoughts  had 
by  this  time  resolved  themselves  into  a pretty  distinct  impres- 
sion that  Kit  couldn’t  go  out  for  a walk  if  he  wanted,  and 
that  there  were  no  birds,  lions,  tigers,  or  other  natural  curios- 


48 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


ities  behind  those  bars  — nothing  indeed,  but  a caged  brother 
— added  his  tears  to  theirs  with  as  little  noise  as  possible. 

Kit’s  mother,  drying  her  eyes  (and  moistening  them,  poor 
soul,  more  than  she  dried  them),  now  took  from  the  ground  a 
small  basket,  and  submissively  addressed  herself  to  the  turn- 
key, saying,  would  he  please  to  listen  to  her  for  a minute  ? 
The  turnkey,  being  in  the  very  crisis  and  passion  of  a joke, 
motioned  to  her  with  his  hand  to  keep  silent  one  minute 
longer,  for  her  life.  NT or  did  he  remove  his  hand  into  its 
former  posture,  but  kept  it  in  the  same  warning  attitude  until 
he  had  finished  the  paragraph,  when  he  paused  for  a few 
seconds,  with  a smile  upon  his  face,  as  who  should  say,  “this 
editor  is  a comical  blade  — a funny  dog,”  and  then  asked  her 
what  she  wanted. 

“ I have  brought  him  a little  something  to  eat,”  said  the 
good  woman.  “ If  you  please,  sir,  might  he  have  it  ? ” 

“ Yes,  — he  may  have  it.  There’s  no  rule  against  that. 
Give  it  to  me  when  you  go,  and  I’ll  take  care  he  has  it.” 

“No,  but  if  you  please,  sir  — don’t  be  angry  with  me,  sir  — 
I am  his  mother,  and  you  had  a mother  once  — if  I might 
only  see  him  eat  a little  bit,  I should  go  away,  so  much  more 
satisfied  that  he  was  all  comfortable.” 

And  again  the  tears'  of  Kit’s  mother  burst  forth,  and  of 
Barbara’s  mother,  and  of  little  Jacob.  As  to  the  baby,  it  was 
crowing  and  laughing  with  all  its  might  — under  the  idea, 
apparently,  that  the  whole  scene  had  been  invented  and  got 
up  for  its  particular  satisfaction. 

The  turnkey  looked  as  if  he  thought  the  request  a strange 
one  and  rather  out  of  the  common  way,  but  nevertheless  he 
laid  down  his  paper,  and  coming  round  to  where  Kit’s  mother 
stood,  took  the  basket  from  her,  and  after  inspecting  its  con- 
tents, handed  it  to  Kit,  and  went  back  to  his  place.  It  may 
be  easily  conceived  that  the  prisoner  had  no  great  appetite, 
but  he  sat  down  on  the  ground,  and  ate  as  hard  as  he  could, 
while,  at  every  morsel  he  put  into  his  mouth,  his  mother 
sobbed  and  wept  afresh,  though  with  a softened  grief  that 
bespoke  the  satisfaction  the  sight  afforded  her. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  Kit  made  some  anxious  inquiries 
about  his  employers,  and  whether  they  had  expressed  any 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


49 


opinion  concerning  him ; but  all  he  could  learn  was,  that  Mr. 
Abel  had  himself  broken  the  intelligence  to  his  mother,  with 
great  kindness  and  delicacy,  late  on  the  previous  night,  but 
had  himself  expressed  no  opinion  of  his  innocence  or  guilt. 
Kit  was  on  the  point  of  mustering  courage  to  ask  Barbara’s 
mother  about  Barbara,  when  the  turnkey  who  had  conducted 
him  reappeared,  a second  turnkey  appeared  behind  his  visit- 
ors, and  the  third  turnkey  with  the  newspaper  cried  “ Time’s 
up  ! ” — adding  in  the  same  breath  “ Now  for  the  next  party  ! ” 
and  then  plunging  deep  into  his  newspaper  again.  Kit  was 
taken  off  in  an  instant,  with  a blessing  from  his  mother,  and  a 
scream  from  little  Jacob,  ringing  in  his  ears.  As  he  was  cross- 
ing the  next  yard  with  the  basket  in  his  hand,  under  the  guid- 
ance of  his  former  conductor,  another  officer  called  to  them 
to  stop,  and  came  up  with  a pint-pot  of  porter  in  his  hand. 

“This  is  Christopher  Nubbles,  isn’t  it,  that  come  in  last 
night  for  felony  ? ” said  the  man. 

His  comrade  replied  that  this  was  the  chicken  in  question. 

“ Then  here’s  your  beer,”  said  the  other  man  to  Christopher. 
“ What  are  you  looking  at  ? There  an’t  a discharge  in  it.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  said  Kit.  “ Who  sent  it  me  ? ” 
“Why,  your  friend,”  replied  the  man.  “ You’re  to  have  it 
every  day,  he  says.  And  so  you  will,  if  he  pays  for  it.” 

“ My  friend ! ” repeated  Kit. 

“ You  are  all  abroad,  seemingly,”  returned  the  other  man. 
“ There’s  his  letter.  Take  hold ! ” 

Kit  took  it,  and  when  he  was  locked  up  again,  read  as 
follows : 

“ Drink  of  this  cup,  you’ll  find  there’s  a spell  in  its  every 
drop  ’gainst  the  ills  of  mortality.  Talk  of  the  cordial  that 
sparkled  for  Helen ! Her  cup  was  a fiction,  but  this  is  reality 
(Barclay  and  Co.’s).  If  they  ever  send  it  in  a fiat  state, 
complain  to  the  Governor.  Yours,  B.  S.” 

“B.  S.!”  said  Kit,  after  some  consideration.  “It  must  be 
Mr.  Bichard  Swiveller.  Well,  it’s  very  kind  of  him,  and  I 
thank  him  heartily  ! ” 

VOL.  it — 4 


50 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

A faint  light,  twinkling  from  the  window  of  the  counting- 
house  on  Quilp’s  wharf,  and  looking  inflamed  and  red  through 
the  night-fog,  as  though  it  suffered  from  it  like  an  eye,  fore- 
warned Mr.  Sampson  Brass,  as  he  approached  the  wooden 
cabin  with  a cautious  step,  that  the  excellent  proprietor,  his 
esteemed  client,  was  inside,  and  probably  waiting  with  his 
accustomed  patience  and  sweetness  of  temper  the  fulfilment 
of  the  appointment  which  now  brought  Mr.  Brass  within  his 
fair  domain. 

“A  treacherous  place  to  pick  one’s  steps  in,  of  a dark 
night,”  muttered  Sampson,  as  he  stumbled  for  the  twentieth 
time  over  some  stray  lumber,  and  limped  in  pain.  “ I believe 
that  boy  strews  the  ground  differently  every  day,  on  purpose 
to  bruise  and  maim  one  ; unless  his  master  does  it  with  his 
own  hands,  which  is  more  than  likely.  I hate  to  come  to 
this  place  without  Sally.  She’s  more  protection  than  a dozen 
men.” 

As  he  paid  this  compliment  to  the  merit  of  the  absent 
charmer,  Mr.  Brass  came  to  a halt ; looking  doubtfully 
towards  the  light,  and  over  his  shoulder. 

“ What’s  he  about,  I wonder  ? ” murmured  the  lawyer, 
standing  on  tiptoe  and  endeavoring  to  obtain  a glimpse  of 
what  was  passing  inside,  which  at  that  distance  was  impos- 
sible — “ drinking,  I suppose,  — making  himself  more  fiery 
and  furious,  and  heating  his  malice  and  mischievousness  till 
they  boil.  I’m  always  afraid  to  come  here  by  myself,  when 
his  account’s  a pretty  large  one.  I don’t  believe  he’d  mind 
throttling  me,  and  dropping  me  softly  into  the  river,  when  the 
tide  was  at  its  strongest,  any  more  than  he’d  mind  killing  a 
rat  — indeed  I don’t  know  whether  he  wouldn’t  consider  it  a 
pleasant  joke.  Hark  ! Now  he’s  singing  ! ” 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


51 


Mr.  Quilp  was  certainly  entertaining  himself  with  vocal 
exercise,  but  it  was  rather  a kind  of  chant  than  a song ; being 
a monotonous  repetition  of  one  sentence  in  a very  rapid  man- 
ner, with  a long  stress  upon  the  last  word,  which  he  swelled 
into  a dismal  roar.  Nor  did  the  burden  of  this  performance  bear 
any  reference  to  love,  or  war,  or  wine,  or  loyalty,  or  any  other, 
the  standard  topics  of  song,  but  to  a subject  not  often  set  to 
music  or  generally  known  in  ballads  ; the  words  being  these  : 
— “ The  worthy  magistrate,  after  remarking  that  the  prisoner 
would  find  some  difficulty  in  persuading  a jury  to  believe  his 
tale,  committed  him  to  take  his  trial  at  the  approaching  ses- 
sions ; and  directed  the  customary  recognizances  to  be  entered 
into  for  the  pros-e-cution.” 

Every  time  he  came  to  this  concluding  word,  and  had  ex- 
hausted all  possible  stress  upon  it,  Quilp  burst  into  a shriek 
of  laughter,  and  began  again. 

“ He’s  dreadfully  imprudent,”  muttered  Brass,  after  he  had 
listened  to  two  or  three  repetitions  of  the  chant.  “ Horribly 
imprudent.  I wish  he  was  dumb.  I wish  he  was  deaf.  I 
wish  he  was  blind.  Hang  him,”  cried  Brass,  as  the  chant 
began  again.  “ I wish  he  was  dead  ! ” 

Giving  utterance  to  these  friendly  aspirations  in  behalf  of 
his  client,  Mr.  Sampson  composed  his  face  into  its  usual  state 
of  smoothness,  and  waiting  until  the  shriek  came  again  and 
was  dying  away,  went  up  to  the  wooden  house,  and  knocked  at 
the  door. 

“ Come  in ! ” cried  the  dwarf. 

“ How  do  you  do  to-night,  sir  ? ” said  Sampson,  peeping  in. 
“Ha  ha  ha!  How  do  you  do,  sir?  Oh  dear  me,  how  very 
whimsical ! Amazingly  whimsical  to  be  sure  ! ” 

“ Come  in,  you  fool ! ” returned  the  dwarf,  “ and  don’t  stand 
there  shaking  your  head  and  showing  your  teeth.  Come  in, 
you  false  witness,  you  perjurer,  you  suborner  of  evidence, 
come  in ! ” 

“ He  has  the  richest  humor ! ” cried  Brass,  shutting  the 
door  behind  him ; “ the  most  amazing  vein  of  comicality ! 
But  isn’t  it  rather  injudicious,  sir  — ? ” 

“What  ? ” demanded  Quilp,  “What,  Judas  ? ” 

“ J udas  ! ” cried  Brass.  “ He  has  such  extraordinary 


52 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


spirits ! His  humor  is  so  extremely  playful ! Judas ! Oh 
yes  — dear  me,  how  very  good  ! Ha  ha  ha ! ” 

All  this  time,  Sampson  was  rubbing  his  hands,  and  staring, 
with  ludicrous  surprise  and  dismay,  at  a great,  goggle-eyed, 
blunt-nosed  figure-head  of  some  old  ship,  which  was  reared 
up  against  the  wall  in  a corner  near  the  stove,  looking  like  a 
goblin  or  hideous  idol  whom  the  dwarf  worshipped.  A mass 
of  timber  on  its  head,  carved  into  the  dim  and  distant  sem- 
blance of  a cocked  hat,  together  with  a representation  of  a star 
on  the  left  breast  and  epaulettes  on  the  shoulders,  denoted 
that  it  was  intended  for  the  effigy  of  some  famous  admiral ; 
but,  without  those  helps,  any  observer  might  have  supposed  it 
the  authentic  portrait  of  a distinguished  merman,  or  great  sea- 
monster.  Being  originally  much  too  large  for  the  apartment 
which  it  was  now  employed  to  decorate,  it  had  been  sawn 
short  off  at  the  waist.  Even  in  this  state  it  reached  from 
floor  to  ceiling ; and  thrusting  itself  forward,  with  that  exces- 
sively wide-awake  aspect,  and  air  of  somewhat  obtrusive  polite- 
ness, by  which  figure-heads  are  usually  characterized,  seemed 
to  reduce  everything  else  to  mere  pigmy  proportions. 

“ Ho  you  know  it  ? ” said  the  dwarf,  watching  Sampson’s 
eyes.  “ Ho  you  see  the  likeness  ? ” 

“ Eh  ? ” said  Brass,  holding  his  head  on  one  side,  and 
throwing  it  a little  back,  as  connoisseurs  do.  “Now  I look  at 
it  again,  I fancy  I see  a — yes,  there  certainly  is  something  in 
the  smile  that  reminds  me  of  — and  yet  upon  my  w^ord  I — ” 
Now,  the  fact  was,  that  Sampson,  never  having  seen  any- 
thing in  the  smallest  degree  resembling  this  substantial  phan- 
tom, was  much  perplexed ; being  uncertain  whether  Mr.  Quilp 
considered  it  like  himself,  and  had  therefore  bought  it  for  a 
family  portrait ; or  whether  he  was  pleased  to  consider  it  as 
the  likeness  of  some  enemy.  He  was  not  very  long  in  doubt ; 
for,  while  he  was  surveying  it  with  that  knowing  look  which 
people  assume  when  they  are  contemplating  for  the  first  time 
portraits  which  they  ought  to  recognize  but  don’t,  the  dwarf 
threw  down  the  newspaper  from  which  he  had  been  chanting 
the  words  already  quoted,  and  seizing  a rusty  iron  bar,  which 
he  used  in  lieu  of  poker,  dealt  the  figure  such  a stroke  on  the 
nose  that  it  rocked  again. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


53 


“ Is  it  like  Kit — is  it  liis  picture,  his  image,  his  very  self  ?” 
cried  the  dwarf,  aiming  a shower  of  blows  at  the  insensible 
countenance,  and  covering  it  with  deep  dimples.  “ Is  it  the 
exact  model  and  counterpart  of  the  dog  — is  it — is  it — is  it?” 
And  with  every  repetition  of  the  question,  he  battered  the 
great  image,  until  the  perspiration  streamed  down  his  face 
with  the  violence  of  the  exercise. 

Although  this  might  have  been  a very  comical  thing  to  look 
at  from  a secure  gallery,  as  a bull-fight  is  found  to  be  a com- 
fortable spectacle  by  those  who  are  not  in  the  arena,  and  a 
house  on  fire  is  better  than  a play  to  people  who  don’t  live 
near  it,  there  was  something  in  the  earnestness  of  Mr.  Quilp’s 
manner  which  made  his  legal  adviser  feel  that  the  counting- 
house  was  a little  too  small,  and  a deal  too  lonely,  for  the 
complete  enjoyment  of  these  humors.  Therefore,  he  stood 
as  far  off  as  he  could,  while  the  dwarf  was  thus  engaged; 
whimpering  out  but  feeble  applause ; and  when  Quilp  left  off 
and  sat  down  again  from  pure  exhaustion,  approached  with 
more  obsequiousness  than  ever. 

“ Excellent  indeed!”  cried  Brass.  “He  he!  Oh,  very 
good,  sir.  You  know,”  said  Sampson,  looking  round  as  if  in 
appeal  to  the  bruised  admiral,  “ he’s  quite  a remarkable  man 
— quite  ! ” 

“ Sit  down,”  said  the  dwarf.  “ I bought  the  dog  yesterday. 
I’ve  been  screwing  gimlets  into  him,  and  sticking  forks  in  his 
eyes,  and  cutting  my  name  on  him.  I mean  to  burn  him  at 
last.” 

“ Ha  ha  ! ” cried  Brass.  “ Extremely  entertaining,  indeed  ! ” 

“ Come  here ! ” said  Quilp,  beckoning  him  to  draw  near. 
“What’s  injudicious,  hey  ? ” 

“Nothing,  sir,  — nothing.  Scarcely  worth  mentioning,  sir; 
but  I thought  that  song' — -admirably  humorous  in  itself  you 
know — was  perhaps  rather — ” 

“Yes,”  said  Quilp,  “ rather  what  ? ” 

“Just  bordering,  or  as  one  may  say  remotely  verging,  upon 
the  confines  of  injudiciousness  perhaps,  sir,”  returned  Brass, 
looking  timidly  at  the  dwarf’s  cunning  eyes,  which  were 
turned  towards  the  fire  and  reflected  its  red  light. 

“Why  ?”  inquired  Quilp,  without  looking  up. 


54 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


“ Why,  yon  know,  sir,”  returned  Brass,  venturing  to  be  more 
familiar : “ — the  fact  is,  sir,  that  any  allusion  to  these  little 
combinings  together,  of  friends,  for  objects  in  themselves  ex- 
tremely laudable,  but  which  the  law  terms  conspiracies,  are 
— you  take  me,  sir  ? — best  kept  snug  and  among  friends,  you 
know.” 

“ Eh ! ” said  Quilp,  looking  up  with  a perfectly  vacant 
countenance.  “ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ Cautious,  exceedingly  cautious,  very  right  and  proper ! ” 
cried  Brass,  nodding  his  head.  “ Mum,  sir,  even  here  — my 
meaning,  sir,  exactly.” 

“ Your  meaning  exactly,  you  brazen  scarecrow,  — what’s 
your  meaning  ? ” retorted  Quilp.  “ Why  do  you  talk  to  me 
of  combining  together  ? Do  I combine  ? Do  I know  any- 
thing about  your  combinings  ? ” 

“No  no,  sir  — certainly  not;  not  by  any  means,”  returned 
Brass. 

“If  you  so  wink  and  nod  at  me,”  said  the  dwarf,  looking 
about  him  as  if  for  his  poker,  “I’ll  spoil  the  expression  of 
your  monkey’s  face,  I will.” 

“ Don’t  put  yourself  out  of  the  way  I beg,  sir,”  rejoined 
Brass,  checking  himself  with  great  alacrity.  “You’re  quite 
right,  sir,  quite  right.  I shouldn’t  have  mentioned  the  subject, 
sir.  It’s  much  better  not  to.  You’re  quite  right,  sir.  Let 
us  change  it,  if  you  please.  You  were  asking,  sir,  Sally  told 
me,  about  our  lodger.  He  has  not  returned,  sir.” 

“No?”  said  Quilp,  heating  some  rum  in  a little  saucepan, 
and  watching  it  to  prevent  its  boiling  over.  “ Why  not  ? ” 

“Why,  sir,”  returned  Brass,  “he  — dear  me,  Mr.  Quilp, 
sir  — ” 

“What’s  the  matter  ? ” said  the  dwarf,  stopping  his  hand  in 
the  act  of  carrying  the  saucepan  to  his  mouth. 

“You  have  forgotten  the  water,  sir,”  said  Brass.  “And 
— excuse  me,  sir — but  it’s  burning  hot.” 

Deigning  no  other  than  a practical  answer  to  this  remon- 
strance, Mr.  Quilp  raised  the  hot  saucepan  to  his  lips,  and 
deliberately  drank  off  all  the  spirit  it  contained,  which  might 
have  been  in  quantity  about  half  a pint,  and  had  been  but  a 
moment  before,  when  he  took  it  off  the  fire,  bubbling  and 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


55 


hissing  fiercely.  Having  swallowed  this  gentle  stimulant, 
and  shaken  his  fist  at  the  admiral,  he  bade  Mr.  Brass  proceed. 

“ But  first,”  said  Quilp,  with  his  accustomed  grin,  “have  a 
drop  yourself  — a nice  drop  — a good,  warm,  fiery  drop.” 

“Why  sir,”  replied  Brass,  “if  there  was  such  a thing  as  a 
mouthful  of  water  that  could  be  got  without  trouble — ” 

“There’s  no  such  thing  to  be  had  here,”  cried  the  dwarf. 
“Water  for  lawyers  ! Melted  lead  and  brimstone,  you  mean, 
nice  hot  blistering  pitch  and  tar  — that’s  the  thing  for  them  — 
eh  Brass,  eh  ? ” 

“ Ha  ha  ha ! ” laughed  Mr.  Brass.  “ Oh  very  biting  ! and 
yet  it’s  like  being  tickled — there’s  a pleasure  in  it  too,  sir!  ” 

“ Drink  that,”  said  the  dwarf,  who  had  by  this  time  heated 
some  more.  “ Toss  it  off,  don’t  leave  any  heeltap,  scorch  your 
throat  and  be  happy  ! ” 

The  wretched  Sampson  took  a few  short  sips  of  the  liquor, 
which  immediately  distilled  itself  into  burning  tears,  and  in 
that  form  came  rolling  down  his  cheeks  into  the  pipkin  again, 
turning  the  color  of  his  face  and  eyelids  to  a deep  red,  and  giv- 
ing rise  to  a violent  fit  of  coughing,  in  the  midst  of  which  he 
was  still  heard  to  declare,  with  the  constancy  of  a martyr,  that 
it  was  “ beautiful  indeed ! ” While  he  was  yet  in  unspeakable 
agonies,  the  dwarf  renewed  their  conversation. 

“ The  lodger,”  said  Quilp,  — “ what  about  him  ? ” 

“ He  is  still,  sir,”  returned  Brass,  with  intervals  of  coughing, 
“ stopping  with  the  Garland  family.  He  has  only  been  home 
once,  sir,  since  the  day  of  the  examination  of  that  culprit. 
He  informed  Mr.  Bichard,  sir,  that  he  couldn’t  bear  the  house 
after  wliat  had  taken  place  ; that  he  was  wretched  in  it ; and 
that  he  looked  upon  himself  as  being  in  a certain  kind  of  way 
the  cause  of  the  occurrence.  — A very  excellent  lodger,  sir.  I 
hope  we  may  not  lose  him.” 

“Yah ! ” cried  the  dwarf.  “Never  thinking  of  anybody  but 
yourself  — why  don’t  you  retrench  then  — scrape  up,  hoard, 
economize,  eh  ? ” 

“Why,  sir,”  replied  Brass,  “upon  my  word  I think  Sarah’s 
as  good  an  economizer  as  any  going.  I do  indeed,  Mr.  Quilp.” 
“ Moisten  your  clay,  wet  the  other  eye,  drink  man  ! ” cried 
the  dwarf.  “ You  took  a clerk  to  oblige  me.” 


56 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


x “ Delighted,  sir,  I am  sure,  at  any  time,”  replied  Sampson. 
"Yes,  sir,  I did.” 

“ Then,  now  yon  may  discharge  him,”  said  Quilp.  “ There’s 
a means  of  retrenchment  for  you  at  once/’ 

“ Discharge  Mr.  Richard,  sir  ? ” cried  Brass. 

“ Have  you  more  than  one  clerk,  you  parrot,  that  you  ask 
the  question?  Yes.” 

“Upon  my  word,  sir,”  said  Brass.  “I  wasn’t  prepared  for 
this  — ” 

“ How  could  you  be  ? ” sneered  the  dwarf,  “ when  I wasn’t  ? 
How  often  am  I to  tell  you  that  I brought  him  to  you  that  I 
might  always  have  my  eye  on  him  and  know  where  he  was  — 
and  that  I had  a plot,  a scheme,  a little  quiet  piece  of  enjoy- 
ment afoot,  of  which  the  very  cream  and  essence  was,  that  this 
old  man  and  grandchild  (who  have  sunk  underground  I think) 
should  be,  while  he  and  his  precious  friend  believed  them  rich, 
in  reality  as  poor  as  frozen  rats  ? ” 

“I  quite  understand  that,  sir,”  rejoined  Brass.  “Thor- 
oughly.” 

“Well,  sir,”  retorted  Quilp,  “and  do  you  understand  now, 
that  they’re  not  poor — that  they  can’t  be,  if  they  have  such 
men  as  your  lodger  searching  for  them,  and  scouring  the 
country  far  and  wide.” 

“ Of  course  I do,  sir,”  said  Sampson. 

“ Of  course  you  do,”  retorted  the  dwarf,  viciously  snapping 
at  his  words.  “ Of  course  do  you  understand  then,  that  it’s 
no  matter  what  comes  of  this  fellow  ? of  course  do  you  under- 
stand that  for  any  other  purpose  he’s  no  man  for  me,  nor  for 
you  ? ” 

“I  have  frequently  said  to  Sarah,  sir,”  returned  Brass,  “that 
he  was  of  no  use  at  all  in  the  business.  You  can’t  put  any 
confidence  in  him,  sir.  If  you’ll  believe  me  I’ve  found  that 
fellow,  in  the  commonest  little  matters  of  the  office  that  have 
been  trusted  to  him,  blurting  out  the  truth,  though  expressly 
cautioned.  The  aggravation  of  that  chap,  sir,  has  exceeded 
anything  you  can  imagine,  it  has  indeed.  Nothing  but  the 
respect  and  obligation  I owe  to  you,  sir  — ” 

As  it  was  plain  that  Sampson  was  bent  on  a complimentary 
harangue,  unless  he  received  a timely  interruption,  Mr.  Quilp 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


57 


politely  tapped  him  on  the  crown  of  his  head  with  the  little 
saucepan,  and  requested  that  he  would  be  so  obliging  as  to 
hold  his  peace. 

“ Practical,  sir,  practical,”  said  Brass,  rubbing  the  place  and 
smiling;  “but  still  extremely  pleasant  — immensely  so!” 

“ Hearken  to  me,  will  you  ? ” returned  Quilp,  “ or  I’ll  be  a 
little  more  pleasant,  presently.  There’s  no  chance  of  his  com- 
rade and  friend  returning.  The  scamp  has  been  obliged  to  fly, 
as  I learn,  for  some  knavery,  and  has  found  his  way  abroad. 
Let  him  rot  there.” 

“ Certainly,  sir.  Quite  proper.  — Forcible  ! ” cried  Brass, 
glancing  at  the  admiral  again,  as  if  he  made  a third  in  company. 
“ Extremely  forcible  ! ” 

“I  hate  him,”  said  Quilp  between  his  teeth,  “and  have 
always  hated  him,  for  family  reasons.  Besides,  he  was  an 
intractable  ruffian ; otherwise  he  would  have  been  of  use. 
This  fellow  is  pigeon-hearted,  and  light-headed.  I don’t  want 
him  any  longer.  Let  him  hang  or  drown  — starve  — go  to  the 
devil.” 

“By  all  means,  sir,”  returned  Brass.  “When  would  you 
wish  him,  sir,  to  — ha,  ha  ! — to  make  that  little  excursion  ? ” 

“ When  this  trial’s  over,”  said  Quilp.  “ As  soon  as  that’s 
ended,  send  him  about  his  business.” 

“ It  shall  be  done,  sir,”  returned  Brass.  “ By  all  means.  It 
will  be  rather  a blow  to  Sarah,  sir,  but  she  has  all  her  feelings 
under  control.  Ah,  Mr.  Quilp,  I often  think,  sir,  if  it  had  only 
pleased  Providence  to  bring  you  and  Sarah  together,  in  earlier 
life,  what  blessed  results  would  have  flowed  from  such  a 
union!  You  never  saw  our  dear  father,  sir?  — a charming 
gentleman.  Sarah  was  his  pride  and  joy,  sir.  He  would  have 
closed  his  eyes  in  bliss,  would  Foxey,  Mr.  Quilp,  if  he  could 
have  found  her  such  a partner.  You  esteem  her,  sir  ? ” 

“ I love  her,”  croaked  the  dwarf. 

“ You’re  very  good,  sir,”  returned  Brass,  “ I am  sure.  Is 
there  any  other  order,  sir,  that  I can  take  a note  of,  besides 
this  little  matter  of  Mr.  Bichard  ? ” 

“ Hone,”  replied  the  dwarf,  seizing  the  saucepan.  “ Let  us 
drink  the  lovely  Sarah.” 

“ If  we  could  do  it  in  something,  sir,  that  wasn’t  quite  boil- 


58 


THE  OLE  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


in g”  suggested  Brass,  humbly,  “ perhaps  it  would  be  better. 
I think  it  will  be  more  agreeable  to  Sarah’s  feelings,  when  she 
comes  to  hear  from  me  of  the  honor  you  have  done  her,  if  she 
learns  it  was  in  liquor  rather  cooler  than  the  last,  sir.” 

But  to  these  remonstrances,  Mr.  Quilp  turned  a deaf  ear. 
Sampson  Brass,  who  was,  by  this  time,  anything  but  sober, 
being  compelled  to  take  further  draughts  of  the  same  strong 
bowl,  found  that,  instead  of  at  all  contributing  to  his  recovery, 
they  had  the  novel  effect  of  making  the  counting-house  spin 
round  and  round  with  extreme  velocity,  and  causing  the  floor 
and  ceiling  to  heave  in  a very  distressing  manner.  After  a 
brief  stupor,  he  awoke  to  a consciousness  of  being  partly  under 
the  table  and  partly  under  the  grate.  This  position  not  being 
the  most  comfortable  one  he  could  have  chosen  for  himself,  he 
managed  to  stagger  to  his  feet,  and,  holding  on  by  the  admiral, 
looked  round  for  his  host. 

Mr.  Brass’s  first  impression  was,  that  his  host  was  gone  and 
had  left  him  there  alone  — perhaps  locked  him  in  for  the 
night.  A strong  smell  of  tobacco,  however,  suggesting  a new 
train  of  ideas,  he  looked  upward,  and  saw  that  the  dwarf  was 
smoking  in  his  hammock. 

“ Good  by,  sir,”  cried  Brass,  faintly.  “ Good  by,  sir.” 

“ Won’t  you  stop  all  night  ? ” said  the  dwarf,  peeping  out. 
“ Do  stop  all  night ! ” 

“I  couldn’t  indeed,  sir,”  replied  Brass,  who  was  almost 
dead  from  nausea  and  the  closeness  of  the  room.  “ If  you’d 
have  the  goodness  to  show  me  a light,  so  that  I may  see  my 
way  across  the  yard,  sir  — ” 

Quilp  was  out  in  an  instant;  not  with  his  legs  first,  or  his 
head  first,  or  his  arms  first,  but  bodily  — altogether. 

“ To  be  sure,”  he  said,  taking  up  a lantern,  which  was  now 
the  only  light  in  the  place.  “Be  careful  how  you  go,  my 
dear  friend.  Be  sure  to  pick  your  way  among  the  timber,  for 
all  the  rusty  nails  are  upwards.  There’s  a dog  in  the  lane. 
He  bit  a man  last  night,  and  a woman  the  night  before,  and 
last  Tuesday  he  killed  a child  — but  that  was  in  play.  Don’t 
go  too  near  him.” 

“Which  side  of  the  road  is  he,  sir  ? ” asked  Brass,  in  great 
dismay. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


59 


“ He  lives  on  the  right  hand/’  said  Quilp,  u but  sometimes 
he  hides  on  the  left,  ready  for  a spring.  He’s  uncertain  in 
that  respect.  Mind  you  take  care  of  yourself.  I’ll  never  for- 
give you  if  you  don’t.  There’s  the  light  out  — never  mind  — 
you  know  the  way  — straight  on  ! ” 

Quilp  had  slily  shaded  the  light  by  holding  it  against  his 
breast,  and  now  stood  chuckling  and  shaking  from  head  to 
foot  in  a rapture  of  delight,  as  he  heard  the  lawyer  stumbling 
up  the  yard,  and  now  and  then  falling  heavily  down.  At 
length,  however,  he  got  quit  of  the  place,  and  was  out  of 
hearing. 

The  dwarf  shut  himself  up  again,  and  sprang  once  more 
into  his  hammock. 


60 


THE  OLE  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  professional  gentleman  who  had  given  Kit  that  con- 
solatory piece  of  information  relative  to  the  settlement  of  his 
trifle  of  business  at  the  Old  Bailey,  and  the  probability  of  its 
being  very  soon  disposed  of,  turned  out  to  be  quite  correct  in 
his  prognostications.  In  eight  days’  time,  the  sessions  com- 
menced. In  one  day  afterwards,  the  Grand  Jury  found  a True 
Bill  against  Christopher  Nubbles  for  felony ; and  in  two  days 
from  that  finding,  the  aforesaid  Christopher  Nubbles  was  called 
upon  to  plead  Guilty  or  Not  Guilty  to  an  Indictment  for  that 
he  the  said  Christopher  did  feloniously  abstract  and  steal  from 
the  dwelling-house  and  office  of  one  Sampson  Brass,  gentle- 
man, one  Bank  Note  for  Eive  Pounds  issued  by  the  Governor 
and  Company  of  the  Bank  of  England;  in  contravention  of 
the  Statutes  in  that  case  made  and  provided,  and  against  the 
peace  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  the  King,  his  crown,  and  dignity. 

To  this  indictment,  Christopher  Nubbles,  in  a low  and  trem- 
bling voice,  pleaded  Not  Guilty  : and  here,  let  those  who  are  in 
the  habit  of  forming  hasty  judgments  from  appearances,  and 
who  would  have  had  Christopher,  if  innocent,  speak  out  very 
strong  and  loud,  observe,  that  confinement  and  anxiety  will 
subdue  the  stoutest  hearts ; and  that  to  one  who  has  been 
close  shut  up,  though  it  be  only  for  ten  or  eleven  days,  seeing 
but  stone  walls  and  a very  few  stony  faces,  the  sudden  entrance 
into  a great  hall  filled  with  life,  is  a rather  disconcerting  and 
startling  circumstance.  To  this,  it  must  be  added,  that  life  in 
a wig,  is,  to  a large  class  of  people,  much  more  terrifying  and 
impressive  than  life  with  its  own  head  of  hair ; and  if,  in  addi- 
tion to  these  considerations,  there  be  taken  into  account  Kit’s 
natural  emotion  on  seeing  the  two  Mr.  Garlands  and  the  little 
Notary  looking  on  with  pale  and  anxious  faces,  it  will  perhaps 
seem  matter  of  no  very  great  wonder  that  he  should  have 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


61 


been  rather  out  of  sorts,  and  unable  to  make  himself  quite  at 
home. 

Although  he  had  never  seen  either  of  the  Mr.  Garlands,  or 
Mr.  Wither  den,  since  the  time  of  his  arrest,  he  had  been  given 
to  understand  that  they  had  employed  counsel  for  him.  There- 
fore, when  one  of  the  gentlemen  in  wigs  got  up  and  said  “ I 
am  for  the  prisoner,  my  Lord/5  Kit  made  him  a bow;  and 
when  another  gentleman  in  a wig  got  up  and  said  “ And  Pm 
against  him,  my  Lord/5  Kit  trembled  very  much,  and  bowed 
to  him  too.  And  didn’t  he  hope  in  his  own  heart  that  his  gen- 
tleman was  a match  for  the  other  gentleman,  and  would  make 
him  ashamed  of  himself  in  no  time ! 

The  gentleman  who  was  against  him  had  to  speak  first,  and 
being  in  dreadfully  good  spirits  (for  he  had,  in  the  last  trial, 
very  nearly  procured  the  acquittal  of  a young  gentleman  who 
had  had  the  misfortune  to  murder  his  father)  he  spoke  up,  you 
may  be  sure ; telling  the  Jury  that  if  they  acquitted  this  pris- 
oner they  must  expect  to  suffer  no  less  pangs  and  agonies 
than  he  had  told  the  other  Jury  they  would  certainly  undergo 
if  they  convicted  that  prisoner.  And  when  he  had  told  them 
all  about  the  case,  and  that  he  had  never  known  a worse  case, 
he  stopped  a little  while,  like  a man  who  had  something  terri- 
ble to  tell  them,  and  then  said  that  he  understood  an  attempt 
would  be  made  by  his  learned  friend  (and  here  he  looked  side- 
ways at  Kit5s  gentleman)  to  impeach  the  testimony  of  those 
immaculate  witnesses  whom  he  should  call  before  them ; but 
he  did  hope  and  trust  that  his  learned  friend  would  have  a 
greater  respect  and  veneration  for  the  character  of  the  prose- 
cutor ; than  whom,  as  he  well  knew,  there  did  not  exist,  and 
never  had  existed,  a more  honorable  member  of  that  most  hon- 
orable profession  to  which  he  was  attached.  And  then  he  said, 
did  the  Jury  know  Bevis  Marks  ? And  if  they  did  know  Be  vis 
Marks  (as  he  trusted,  for  their  own  characters,  they  did)  did 
they  know  the  historical  and  elevating  associations  connected 
with  that  most  remarkable  spot  ? Did  they  believe  that  a man 
like  Brass  could  reside  in  a place  like  Bevis  Marks,  and  not  be 
a virtuous  and  most  upright  character?  And  when  he  had 
said  a great  deal  to  them  on  this  point,  he  remembered  that  it 
was  an  insult  to  their  understandings  to  make  any  remarks  on 


62 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


what  they  must  have  felt  so  strongly  without  him,  and  there- 
fore called  Sampson  Brass  into  the  witness-box,  straightway. 

Then  up  comes  Mr.  Brass,  very  brisk  and  fresh;  and, 
having  bowed  to  the  judge,  like  a man  who  has  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  him  before,  and  who  hopes  he  iias  been 
pretty  well  since  their  last  meeting,  folds  his  arms,  and  looks 
at  his  gentleman  as  much  as  to  say  “Here  I am  — full  of  evi- 
dence — Tap  me ! ” And  the  gentleman  does  tap  him  pres- 
ently, and  with  great  discretion  too ; drawing  off  the  evidence 
by  little  and  little,  and  making  it  run  quite  clear  and  bright 
in  the  eyes  of  all  present.  Then,  Kit’s  gentleman  takes  him 
in  hand,  but  can  make  nothing  of  him ; and  after  a great 
many  very  long  questions  and  very  short  answers,  Mr.  Samp- 
son Brass  goes  down  in  glory. 

To  him  succeeds  Sarah,  who  in  like  manner  is  easy  to  be 
managed  by  Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman,  but  very  obdurate  to 
Kit’s.  In  short,  Kit’s  gentleman  can  get  nothing  out  of  her 
but  a repetition  of  what  she  has  said  before  (only  a little 
stronger  this  time,  as  against  his  client),  and  therefore  lets 
her  go,  in  some  confusion.  Then,  Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman  calls 
Bichard  Swiveller,  and  Bichard  Swiveller  appears  accordingly. 

Now,  Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman  has  it  whispered  in  his  ear 
that  this  witness  is  disposed  to  be  friendly  to  the  prisoner  — 
which,  to  say  the  truth,  he  is  rather  glad  to  hear,  as  his 
strength  is  considered  to  lie  in  what  is  familiarly  termed 
badgering.  Wherefore,  he  begins  by  requesting  the  officer  to 
be  quite  sure  that  this  witness  kisses  the  book,  and  then  goes 
to  work  at  him,  tooth  and  nail. 

“ Mr.  Swiveller,”  says  this  gentleman  to  Dick,  when  he  has 
told  his  tale  with  evident  reluctance  and  a desire  to  make  the 
best  of  it : “ Pray,  sir,  where  did  you  dine  yesterday  ? ” — 
“ Where  did  I dine  yesterday  ? ” — “ Aye,  sir,  where  did  you 
dine  yesterday  — was  it  near  here,  sir  ? ” — “ Oh  to  be  sure  — 
yes  — just  over  the  way”  — “To  be  sure.  Yes.  Just  over 
the  way,”  repeats  Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman,  with  a glance  at  the 
court  — “ Alone,  sir  ? ” — “I  beg  your  pardon,”  says  Mr. 
Swiveller,  who  has  not  caught  the  question  — “ Alone , sir  ? ” 
repeats  Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman  in  a voice  of  thunder,  “ did  you 
dine  alone  ? Did  you  treat  anybody,  sir  ? Come  ! ” — “ Oh 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


63 


yes  to  be  sure — yes,  I did,”  says  Mr.  Swiveller  with  a smile. 
“ Have  the  goodness  to  banish  a levity,  sir,  which  is  very  ill- 
suited  to  the  place  in  which  you  stand  (though  perhaps  you 
have  reason  to  be  thankful  that  it’s  only  that  place),”  says 
Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman,  with  a nod  of  the  head,  insinuating 
that  the  dock  is  Mr.  Swiveller’s  legitimate  sphere  of  action ; 
“and  attend  to  me.  You  were  waiting  about  here,  yesterday, 
in  expectation  that  this  trial  was  coming  on.  You  dined  over 
the  way.  You  treated  somebody.  Now,  was  that  somebody 
brother  to  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ? ” — Mr.  Swiveller  is  pro- 
ceeding to  explain  — “Yes  or  No,  sir,”  cries  Mr.  Brass’s  gen- 
tleman — “ But  will  you  allow  me  — ” — “Yes  or  No,  sir,”  — 
“Yes  it  was,  but  — ” — “Yes  it  was,”  cries  the  gentleman, 
taking  him  up  short  — “ And  a very  pretty  witness  you  are  ! ” 

Down  sits  Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman.  Kit’s  gentleman,  not 
knowing  how  the  matter  really  stands,  is  afraid  to  pursue  the 
subject.  Bichard  Swiveller  retires  abashed.  Judge,  jury,  and 
spectators,  have  visions  of  his  lounging  about,  with  an  ill- 
looking,  large-whiskered,  dissolute  young  fellow  of  six  feet 
high.  The  reality  is,  little  Jacob,  with  the  calves  of  his  legs 
exposed  to  the  open  air,  and  himself  tied  up  in  a shawl.  No- 
body knows  the  truth ; everybody  believes  a falsehood ; and 
all  because  of  the  ingenuity  of  Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman. 

Then,  come  the  witnesses  to  character,  and  here  Mr.  Brass’s 
gentleman  shines  again.  It  turns  out  that  Mr.  Garland  has 
had  no  character  with  Kit,  no  recommendation  of  him  but 
from  his  own  mother,  and  that  he  was  suddenly  dismissed  by 
his  former  master  for  unknown  reasons.  Beally,  Mr.  Gar- 
land,” says  Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman,  “for  a person  who  has 
arrived  at  your  time  of  life,  you  are,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
singularly  indiscreet,  I think.”  The  Jury  think  so  too,  and 
find  Kit  guilty.  He  is  taken  off,  humbly  protesting  his  inno- 
cence. The  spectators  settle  themselves  in  their  places  with 
renewed  attention,  for  there  are  several  female  witnesses  to 
be  examined  in  the  next  case,  and  it  has  been  rumored  that 
Mr.  Brass’s  gentleman  w'ill  make  great  fun  in  cross-examining 
them  for  the  prisoner. 

Kit’s  mother,  poor  woman,  is  waiting  at  the  grate  below 
stairs,  accompanied  by  Barbara’s  mother  (who,  honest  soul ! 


64 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


never  does  anything  but  cry  and  hold  the  baby),  and  a sad 
interview  ensues.  The  newspaper-reading-turnkey  has  told 
them  all.  He  don’t  think  it  will  be  transportation  for  life, 
because  there’s  time  to  prove  the  good  character  yet,  and  that 
is  sure  to  serve  him.  He  wonders  what  he  did  it  for.  “ He 
never  did  it !”  cries  Kit’s  mother.  “ Well,”  says  the  turnkey, 
cc  I won’t  contradict  you.  It’s  all  one  now,  whether  he  did  it 
or  not.” 

Kit’s  mother  can  reach  his  hand  through  the  bars,  and  she 
clasps  it  — God,  and  those  to  whom  He  has  given  such  tender- 
ness, only  know  in  how  much  agony.  Kit  bids  her  keep  a good 
heart,  and,  under  pretence  of  having  the  childen  lifted  up  to 
kiss  him,  prays  Barbara’s  mother  in  a whisper  to  take  her  home. 

“ Some  friend  will  rise  up  for  us,  mother,”  cries  Kit,  “ I am 
sure.  If  not  now,  before  long.  My  innocence  will  come  out, 
mother,  and  I shall  be  brought  back  again  ; I feel  a confidence 
in  that.  You  must  teach  little  Jacob  and  the  baby  how  all 
this  was,  for  if  they  thought  I had  ever  been  dishonest,  when 
they  grew  old  enough  to  understand,  it  would  break  my  heart 
to  know  it,  if  I was  thousands  of  miles  away.  — Oh  ! is  there 
no  good  gentleman  here,  who  will  take  care  of  her ! ” 

The  hand  slips  out  of  his,  for  the  poor  creature  sinks  down 
upon  the  earth,  insensible.  Richard  Swiveller  comes  hastily 
up,  elbows  the  bystanders  out  of  the  way,  takes  her  (after 
some  trouble)  in  one  arm  after  the  manner  of  theatrical  rav- 
ishers,  and,  nodding  to  Kit,  and  commanding  Barbara’s  mother 
to  follow,  for  he  has  a coach.  waiting,  bears  her  swiftly  off. 

Well ; Richard  took  her  home.  And  what  astonishing  ab- 
surdities in  the  way  of  quotation  from  song  and  poem,  he  per- 
petrated on  the  road,  no  man  knows.  He  took  her  home,  and 
stayed  till  she  was  recovered ; and,  having  no  money  to  pay 
the  coach,  went  back  in  state  to  Bevis  Marks,  bidding  the 
driver  (for  it  was  Saturday  night)  wait  at  the  door  while  he 
went  in  for  “ change.” 

“ Mr.  Richard,  sir,”  said  Brass,  cheerfully,  “ good  evening ! ” 

Monstrous  as  Kit’s  tale  had  appeared,  at  first,  Mr.  Richard 
did,  that  night,  half-suspect  his  affable  employer  of  some  deep 
villiany.  Perhaps  it  was  but  the  misery  he  had  just  witnessed 
which  gave  his  careless  nature  this  impulse ; but,  be  that  as 


MR.  SWIVELLER  TO  THE  RESCUE 


THE  OLT)  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


65 


it  may,  it  was  very  strong  upon  him,  and  he  said  in  as  few 
words  as  possible,  what  he  wanted. 

“ Money  ? ” cried  Brass,  taking  out  his  purse.  “ Ha  ha ! 
To  be  sure,  Mr.  Richard,  to  be  sure,  sir.  All  men  must  live. 
You  haven’t  change  for  a five-pound  note,  have  you,  sir  ? ” 

“ Ho,”  returned  Dick,  shortly. 

“Oh!”  said  Brass,  “here’s  the  very  sum.  That  saves 
trouble.  You’re  very  welcome  I’m  sure  — Mr.  Richard,  sir  — ” 
Dick,  who  had  by  this  time  reached  the  door,  turned  round. 
“You  needn’t,”  said  Brass,  “trouble  yourself  to  come  back 
any  more,  sir.” 

« Eh  ?” 

“You  see,  Mr.  Richard,”  said  Brass,  thrusting  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  rocking  himself  to  and  fro  on  his  stool,  “the 
fact  is,  that  a man  of  your  abilities  is  lost,  sir,  quite  lost,  in  our 
dry  and  mouldy  line.  It’s  terrible  drudgery  — shocking.  I 
should  say,  now,  that  the  stage,  or  the  — or  the  army,  Mr. 
Richard  — or  something  very  superior  in  the  licensed  victual- 
ling way  — was  the  kind  of  thing  that  would  call  out  the 
genius  of  such  a man  as  you.  I hope  you’ll  look  in  to  see  us 
now  and  then.  Sally,  sir,  will  be  delighted  I’m  sure.  She’s 
extremely  sorry  to  lose  you,  Mr.  Richard,  but  a sense  of  her 
duty  to  society  reconciles  her.  An  amazing  creature  that, 
sir ! You’ll  find  the  money  quite  correct,  I think.  There’s  a 
cracked  window,  sir,  but  I’ve  not  made  any  deduction  on  that 
account.  Whenever  we  part  with  friends,  Mr.  Richard,  let  us 
part  liberally.  A delightful  sentiment,  sir  ! ” 

To  all  these  rambling  observations,  Mr.  Swiveller  answered 
not  one  word,  but,  returning  for  the  aquatic  jacket,  rolled  it 
into  a tight  round  ball : looking  steadily  at  Brass  meanwhile 
as  if  he  had  some  intention  of  bowling  him  down  with  it.  He 
only  took  it  under  his  arm,  however,  and  marched  out  of  the 
office  in  profound  silence.  When  he  had  closed  the  door,  he 
re-opened  it,  stared  in  again  for  a few  moments  with  the  same 
portentous  gravity,  and  nodding  his  head  once,  in  a slow  and 
ghost-like  manner,  vanished. 

He  paid  the  coachman,  and  turned  his  back  on  Bevis  Marks, 
big  with  great  designs  for  the  comforting  of  Kit’s  mother  and 
the  aid  of  Kit  himself. 

VOL.  II — 5 


66 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


But,  the  lives  of  gentlemen  devoted  to  such  pleasures  as 
Richard  Swiveller,  are  extremely  precarious.  The  spiritual 
excitement  of  the  last  fortnight,  working  upon  a system  af- 
fected in  no  slight  degree  by  the  spirituous  excitement  of  some 
years,  proved  a little  too  much  for  him.  That  very  night,  Mr. 
Richard  was  seized  with  an  alarming  illness,  and  in  twenty- 
four  hours  was  stricken  with  a raging  fever. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


67 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Tossing  to  and  fro  upon  his  hot,  uneasy  bed;  tormented  by 
a fierce  thirst  which  nothing  could  appease  ; unable  to  find,  in 
any  change  of  posture,  a moment’s  peace  or  ease ; and  ramb- 
ling, ever,  through  deserts  of  thought  where  there  was  no 
resting-place,  no  sight  or  sound  suggestive  of  refreshment  or 
repose,  nothing  but  a dull  eternal  weariness,  with  no  change 
but  the  restless  shiftings  of  his  miserable  body,  and  the  weary 
wanderings  of  his  mind,  constant  still  to  one  ever  present 
anxiety  — to  a sense  of  something  left  undone,  of  some  fearful 
obstacle,  to  be  surmounted,  of  some  carking  care  that  would 
not  be  driven  away,  and  which  haunted  the  distempered  brain, 
now  in  this  form,  now  in  that,  always  shadowy  and  dim,  but 
recognizable  for  the  same  phantom  in  every  shape  it  took : 
darkening  every  vision  like  an  evil  conscience,  and  making 
slumber  horrible  — in  these  slow  tortures  of  his  dread  disease, 
the  unfortunate  Richard  lay  wasting  and  consuming  inch  by 
inch,  until,  at  last,  when  he  seemed  to  fight  and  struggle  to 
rise  up,  and  to  be  held  down  by  devils,  he  sank  into  a deep 
sleep,  and  dreamed  no  more. 

He  awoke.  With  a sensation  of  most  blissful  rest,  better 
than  sleep  itself,  he  began  gradually  to  remember  something 
of  these  sufferings,  had  to  think  what  a long  night  it  had 
been,  and  whether  he  had  not  been  delirious  twice  or  thrice. 
Happening,  in  the  midst  of  these  cogitations,  to  raise  his  hand, 
he  was  astonished  to  find  how  heavy  it  seemed,  and  yet  how 
thin  and  light  it  really  was.  Still,  he  felt  indifferent  and 
happy ; and  having  no  curiosity  to  pursue  the  subject,  re- 
mained in  the  same  waking  slumber  until  his  attention  was 
attracted  by  a cough.  This  made  him  doubt,  whether  he  had 
locked  his  door  last  night,  and  feel  a little  surprised  at  having 
a companion  in  the  room.  Still  he  lacked  energy  to  follow  up 


68 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


this  train  of  thought ; and  unconsciously  fell,  in  a luxury  of 
repose,  to  staring  at  some  green  stripes  on  the  bed-furniture, 
and  associating  them  strangely  with  patches  of  fresh  turf, 
while  the  yellow  ground  between,  made  gravel-walks,  and  so 
helped  out  a long  perspective  of  trim  gardens. 

He  was  rambling  in  imagination  on  these  terraces,  and  had 
quite  lost  himself  among  them  indeed,  when  he  heard  the 
cough  once  more.  The  walks  shrunk  into  stripes  again  at 
the  sound,  and  raising  himself  a little  in  the  bed,  and  holding 
the  curtain  open  with  one  hand,  he  looked  out. 

The  same  room  certainly,  and  still  by  candle-light ; but 
with  what  unbounded  astonishment  did  he  see  all  those  bottles, 
and  basins,  and  articles  of  linen  airing  by  the  fire,  and  such- 
like furniture  of  a sick  chamber  — all  very  clean  and  neat, 
but  all  quite  different  from  anything  he  had  left  there,  when 
he  went  to  bed ! The  atmosphere,  too,  filled  with  a cool  smell 
of  herbs  and  vinegar  ; the  floor  newly  sprinkled ; the  — the 
what  ? The  Marchioness  ? 

Yes ; playing  cribbage  with  herself  at  the  table.  There 
she  sat,  intent  upon  her  game,  coughing  now  and  then  in  a 
subdued  manner  as  if  she  feared  to  disturb  him  — shuffling  the 
cards,  cutting,  dealing,  playing,  counting,  pegging — going 
through  all  the  mysteries  of  cribbage  as  if  she  had  been  in  full 
practice  from  her  cradle  ! 

Mr.  Swiveller  contemplated  these  things  for  a short  time, 
and  suffering  the  curtain  to  fall  into  its  former  position,  laid 
his  head  on  the  pillow  again. 

“I’m  dreaming,”  thought  Richard,  “ that’s  clear.  When 
I went  to  bed,  my  hands  were  not  made  of  egg-shells ; and 
now  I can  almost  see  through  ’em.  If  this  is  not  a dream,  I 
have  woke  up,  by  mistake,  in  an  Arabian  Night,  instead  of  a 
London  one.  But  I have  no  doubt  I’m  asleep.  Not  the  least.” 

Here  the  small  servant  had  another  cough. 

“Very  remarkable!”  thought  Mr.  Swiveller.  “I  never 
dreamt  such  a real  cough  as  that,  before.  I don’t  know, 
indeed,  that  I ever  dreamt  either  a cough  or  a sneeze. 
Perhaps  it’s  part  of  the  philosophy  of  dreams  that  one  never 
does.  There’s  another  — and  another — Isay!  — I’m  dream- 
ing rather  fast ! ” 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


69 


For  the  purpose  of  testing  his  real  condition,  Mr.  Swiveller, 
after  some  reflection,  pinched  himself  in  the  arm. 

“ Queerer  still ! ” he  thought.  “ I came  to  bed  rather  plump 
than  otherwise,  and  now  there’s  nothing  to  lay  hold  of.  I’ll 
take  another  survey.” 

The  result  of  this  additional  inspection  was,  to  convince 
Mr.  Swiveller  that  the  objects  by  which  he  was  surrounded 
were  real,  and  that  he  saw  them,  beyond  all  question,  with  his 
waking  eyes. 

“ It’s  an  Abarian  Night ; that’s  what  it  is,”  said  Eiehard. 
“I’m  in  Damascus  or  Grand  Cairo.  The  Marchioness  is  a 
Genie,  and  having  had  a wager  with  another  Genie  about  who 
is  the  handsomest  young  man  alive,  and  the  worthiest  to  be 
the  husband  of  the  Princess  of  China,  has  brought  me  away, 
room  and  all,  to  compare  us  together.  Perhaps,”  said  Mr. 
Swiveller,  turning  languidly  round  on  his  pillow,  and  looking 
on  that  side  of  his  bed  which  was  next  the  wall,  “ the  Prin- 
cess may  be  still  — No,  she’s  gone.” 

Not  feeling  quite  satisfied  with  this  explanation,  as,  even 
taking  it  to  be  the  correct  one,  it  still  involved  a little  mystery 
and  doubt,  Mr.  Swiveller  raised  the  curtain  again,  determined 
to  take  the  first  favorable  opportunity  of  addressing  his 
companion.  An  occasion  soon  presented  itself.  The  Mar- 
chioness dealt,  turned  up  a knave,  and  omitted  to  take  the 
usual  advantage ; upon  which,  Mr.  Swiveller  called  out  as 
loud  as  he  could  — “ Two  for  his  heels  ! ” 

The  Marchioness  jumped  up  quickly,  and  clapped  her  hands. 
“ Arabian  Night,  certainly,!’  thought  Mr.  Swiveller;  “they 
always  clap  their  hands  instead  of  ringing  the  bell.  Now 
for  the  two  thousand  black  slaves,  with  jars  of  jewels  on  their 
heads ! ” 

It  appeared,  however,  that  she  had  only  clapped  her  hands 
for  joy ; as,  directly  afterwards  she  began  to  laugh,  and  then 
to  cry  ; declaring,  not  in  choice  Arabic  but  in  familiar  English, 
that  she  was  “ so  glad,  she  didn’t  know  what  to  do.” 

“ Marchioness,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  thoughtfully,  “ be 
pleased  to  draw  nearer.  First  of  all,  will  you  have  the  good- 
ness to  inform  me  where  I shall  find  my  voice ; and  secondly, 
what  has  become  of  my  flesh  ? ” 


70 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


The  Marchioness  only  shook  her  head  mournfully,  and 
cried  again;  whereupon  Mr.  Swiveller  (being  very  weak)  felt 
his  own  eyes  affected  likewise. 

“I  begin  to  infer,  from  your  manner,  and  these  appear- 
ances, Marchioness,”  said  Richard  after  a pause,  and  smiling 
with  a trembling  lip,  “that  I have  been  ill.” 

“ You  just  have ! ” replied  the  small  servant,  wiping  her 
eyes.  “ And  haven’t  you  been  a talking  nonsense  ! ” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Dick.  “ Very  ill,  Marchioness,  have  I been  ? ” 
“ Dead,  all  but,”  replied  the  small  servant.  “ I never 
thought  you’d  get  better.  Thank  Heaven  you  have  ! ” 

Mr.  Swiveller  was  silent  for  a long  while.  By  and  by, 
he  began  to  talk  again  : inquiring  how  long  he  had  been 
there. 

“ Three  weeks  to-morrow,”  replied  the  small  servant. 

“ Three  what  ? ” said  Dick. 

“Weeks,”  returned  the  Marchioness,  emphatically;  “three 
long,  slow  weeks.” 

The  bare  thought  of  having  been  in  such  extremity  caused 
Richard  to  fall  into  another  silence,  and  to  lie  flat  down  again, 
at  his  full  length.  The  Marchioness,  having  arranged  the 
bedclothes  more  comfortably,  and  felt  that  his  hands  and  fore- 
head were  quite  cool  — a discovery  that  filled  her  with  delight 
- — cried  a little  more,  and  then  applied  herself  to  getting  tea 
ready,  and  making  some  thin  dry  toast. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged,  Mr.  Swiveller  looked  on  with 
a grateful  heart,  very  much  astonished  to  see  how  thoroughly 
at  home  she  made  herself,  and  attributing  this  attention,  in  its 
origin,  to  Sally  Brass,  whom,  in  his  own  mind,  he  could  not 
thank  enough.  When  the  Marchioness  had  finished  her  toast- 
ing, she  spread  a clean  cloth  on  a tray,  and  brought  him  some 
crisp  slices  and  a great  basin  of  weak  tea,  with  which  (she 
said)  the  doctor  had  left  word  he  might  refresh  himself  when 
he  awoke.  She  propped  him  up  with  pillows,  if  not  as  skil- 
fully as  if  she  had  been  a professional  nurse,  all  her  life,  at 
least  as  tenderly ; and  looked  on  with  unutterable  satisfaction 
while  the  patient  — stopping  every  now  and  then  to  shake  her 
by  the  hand  — took  his  poor  meal  with  an  appetite  and  relish, 
which  the  greatest  dainties  of  the  earth,  under  any  other  eir- 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


71 


cumstances,  would  have  failed  to  provoke.  Having  cleared 
away,  and  disposed  everything  comfortably  about  him  again, 
she  sat  down  at  the  table  to  take  her  own  tea. 

“ Marchioness/’  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  “ how’s  Sally  ? ” 

The  small  servant  screwed  her  face  into  an  expression  of 
the  very  utmost  entanglement  of  sliness,  and  shook  her  head. 

“ What,  haven’t  you  seen  her  lately  ? ” said  Dick. 

“ Seen  her  ! ” cried  the  small  servant.  “ Bless  you,  I’ve  run 
away ! ” 

Mr.  Swiveller  immediately  laid  himself  down  again  quite 
flat,  and  so  remained  for  about  five  minutes.  By  slow  degrees 
he  resumed  his  sitting  posture  after  that  lapse  of  time,  and 
inquired  : 

“ And  where  do  you  live,  Marchioness  ? ” 

“ Live  ! ” cried  the  small  servant.  “ Here  ! ” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Mr.  Swiveller. 

And  with  that  he  fell  down  flat  again,  as  suddenly  as  if  he 
had  been  shot.  Thus  he  remained,  motionless  and  bereft  of 
speech,  until  she  had  finished  her  meal,  put  everything  in  its 
place,  and  swept  the  hearth ; when  he  motioned  her  to  bring  a 
chair  to  the  bedside,  and,  being  propped  up  again,  opened  a 
farther  conversation. 

“ And  so,”  said  Dick,  “ you  have  run  away  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  the  Marchioness,  “ and  they’ve  been  a tising  of 
me.” 

“ Been  — I beg  your  pardon,”  said  Dick  — “ what  have  they 
been  doing  ? ” 

“ Been  a tising  of  me  — tising  you  know  — in  the  news- 
papers,” rejoined  the  Marchioness. 

“ Aye,  aye,”  said  Dick,  u advertising  ? ” 

The  small  servant  nodded,  and  winked.  Her  eyes  were  so 
red  with  waking  and  crying,  that  the  Tragic  Muse  might  have 
winked  with  greater  consistency.  And  so  Dick  felt. 

“ Tell  me,”  said  he,  “ how  it  was  that  you  thought  of 
coming  here.” 

“ Why,  you  see,”  returned  the  Marchioness,  “ when  you  was 
gone,  I hadn’t  any  friend  at  all,  because  the  lodger  he  never 
come  back,  and  I didn’t  know  where  either  him  or  you  was  to 
be  found,  you  know.  But  one  morning,  when  I was  — ” 


72 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


“Was  near  a keyhole  ?”  suggested  Mr.  Swiveller,  observing 
that  she  faltered. 

“Well  then/’  said  the  small  servant,  nodding;  “when  I 
was  near  the  ifice  keyhole  — as  you  see  me  through,  you 
know  — I heard  somebody  saying  that  she  lived  here,  and  was 
the  lady  whose  house  you  lodged  at,  and  that  you  was  took 
very  bad,  and  wouldn’t  nobody  come  and  take  care  of  you. 
Mr.  Brass,  he  says,  ‘ It’s  no  business  of  mine,’  he  says ; and 
Miss  Sally,  she  says,  ‘ He’s  a funny  chap,  but  it’s  no  business 
of  mine  ; ’ and  the  lady  went  away,  and  slammed  the  door  to, 
when  she  went  out,  I can  tell  you.  So  I ran  away  that  night, 
and  come  here,  and  told  ’em  you  was  my  brother,  and  they 
believed  me,  and  I’ve  been  here  ever  since.” 

“ This  poor  little  Marchioness  has  been  wearing  herself  to 
death ! ” cried  Dick. 

“Ho  I haven’t,”  she  returned,  “not  a bit  of  it.  Don’t  you 
mind  about  me.  I like  sitting  up,  and  I’ve  often  had  a sleep, 
bless  you,  in  one  of  them  chairs.  But  if  you  could  have  seen 
how  you  tried  to  jump  out  o’  winder,  and  if  you  could  have 
heard  how  you  used  to  keep  on  singing  and  making  speeches, 
you  wouldn’t  have  believed  it — I’m  so  glad  you’re  better, 
Mr.  Liverer.” 

“ Liverer  indeed  ! ” said  Dick,  thoughtfully.  “ It’s  well  I 
am  a liverer.  I strongly  suspect  I should  have  died,  Mar- 
chioness, but  for  you.” 

At  this  point,  Mr.  Swiveller  took  the  small  servant’s  hand 
in  his,  again,  and  being,  as  we  have  seen,  but  poorly,  might  in 
struggling  to  express  his  thanks  have  made  his  eyes  as  red  as 
hers,  but  that  she  quickly  changed  the  theme  by  making  him 
lie  down,  and  urging  him  to  keep  very  quiet. 

“ The  doctor,”  she  told  him,  “ said  you  was  to  be  kept  quite 
still,  and  there  was  to  be  no  noise  nor  nothing.  How,  take  a 
rest,  and  then  we’ll  talk  again.  I’ll  sit  by  you,  you  know.  If 
you  shut  your  eyes,  perhaps  you’ll  go  to  sleep.  You’ll  be  all 
the  better  for  it,  if  you  do.” 

The  Marchioness,  in  saying  these  words,  brought  a little 
table  to  the  bedside,  took  her  seat  at  it,  and  began  to  work 
away  at  the  concoction  of  some  cooling  drink,  with  the  address 
of  a score  of  chemists.  Bicliard  Swiveller,  being  indeed 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


73 


fatigued,  fell  into  a slumber;  and  waking  in  about  lialf  an 
hour;  inquired  what  time  it  was. 

“ Just  gone  half  after  six/’  replied  his  small  friend;  helping 
him  to  sit  up  again. 

“ Marchioness/’  said  Richard;  passing  his  hand  over  his 
forehead  and  turning  suddenly  round;  as  though  the  subject 
but  that  moment  flashed  upon  him,  “what  has  become  of 
Kit  ? ” 

He  had  been  sentenced  to  transportation  for  a great  many 
years,  she  said. 

“ Has  he  gone  ? ” asked  Dick  — “ his  mother  — how  is  she 
— what  has  become  of  her  ? ” 

His  nurse  shook  her  head;  and  answered  that  she  knew 
nothing  about  them.  “But;  if  I thought/’  said  she,  very 
slowly,  “that  you’d  keep  quiet;  and  not  put  yourself  into 
another  fever;  I could  tell  you  — but  I won’t  now.” 

“ Yes,  do/’  said  Dick.  “It  will  amuse  me.” 

“ Oh  ! would  it  though  ! ” rejoined  the  small  servant;  with  a 
horrified  look.  “I  know  better  than  that.  Wait  till  you’re 
better,  and  then  I’ll  tell  you.” 

Dick  looked  very  earnestly  at  his  little  friend  : and  his  eyes, 
being  large  and  hollow  from  illness,  assisted  the  expression  so 
much,  that  she  was  quite  frightened,  and  besought  him  not  to 
think  any  more  about  it.  What  had  already  fallen  from  her, 
however,  had  not  only  piqued  his  curiosity,  but  seriously 
alarmed  him,  wherefore  he  urged  her  to  tell  him  the  worst  at 
once. 

“ Oh  ! there’s  no  worst  in  it,”  said  the  small  servant.  “ It 
hasn’t  anything  to  do  with  you.” 

“ Has  it  anything  to  do  with  — is  it  anything  you  heard 
through  chinks  or  keyholes  — and  that  you  were  not  intended 
to  hear  ? ” asked  Dick,  in  a breathless  state. 

“ Yes,”  replied  the  small  servant. 

u In  — in  Bevis  Marks  ? ” pursued  Dick,  hastily.  “ Conver- 
sations between  Brass  and  Sally  ? ” 

“Yes,”  cried  the  small  servant  again. 

Richard  Swiveller  thrust  his  lank  arm  out  of  bed,  and,  grip- 
ing her  by  the  wrist  and  drawing  her  close  to  him,  bade  her 
out  with  it,  and  freely  too,  or  he  would  not  answer  for  the 


74 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


consequences ; being  wholly  unable  to  endure  that  state  of  ex- 
citement and  expectation.  She,  seeing  that  he  was  greatly 
agitated,  and  that  the  effects  of  postponing  her  revelation 
might  be  much  more  injurious  than  any  that  were  likely  to 
ensue  from  its  being  made  at  once,  promised  compliance,  on 
condition  that  the  patient  kept  himself  perfectly  quiet,  and 
abstained  from  starting  up  or  tossing  about. 

“ But  if  you  begin  to  do  that,”  said  the  small  servant,  “ I’ll 
leave  off.  And  so  I tell  you.” 

“ You  can’t  leave  off,  till  you  have  gone  on,”  said  Dick. 
“And  do  go  on,  there’s  a darling.  Speak,  sister,  speak. 
Pretty  Polly  say.  Oh  tell  me  when,  and  tell  me  where,  pray 
Marchioness,  I beseech  you  ! ” 

Unable  to  resist  these  fervent  adjurations,  which  Bichard 
Swiveller  poured  out  as  passionately  as  if  they  had  been  of  the 
most  solemn  and  tremendous  nature,  his  companion  spoke 
thus  : 

“ Well ! Before  I run  away,  I used  to  sleep  in  the  kitchen 
— where  we  played  cards,  you  know.  Miss  Sally  used  to  keep 
the  key  of  the  kitchen  door  in  her  pocket,  and  she  always 
come  down  at  night  to  take  away  the  candle  and  rake  out  the 
fire.  When  she  had  done  that,  she  left  me  to  go  to  bed  in  the 
dark,  locked  the  door  on  the  outside,  put  the  key  in  her  pocket 
again,  and  kept  me  locked  up  till  she  come  down  in  the  morn- 
ing — very  early  I can  tell  you  — and  let  me  out.  I was  ter- 
rible afraid  of  being  kept  like  this,  because  if  there  was  a fire, 
I thought  they  might  forget  me  and  only  take  care  of  them- 
selves you  know.  So,  whenever  I see  an  old  rusty  key  any- 
where, I picked  it  up,  and  tried  if  it  would  fit  the  door,  and  at 
last  I found  in  the  dust  cellar,  a key  that  did  fit  it.” 

Here,  Mr.  Swiveller  made  a violent  demonstration  with  his 
legs.  But  the  small  servant  immediately  pausing  in  her  talk, 
he  subsided  again,  and  pleading  a momentary  forgetfulness  of 
their  compact,  entreated  her  to  proceed. 

“ They  kept  me  very  short,”  said  the  small  servant.  “ Oh  ! 
you  can’t  think  how  short  they  kept  me  ! So  I used  to  come 
out  at  night  after  they’d  gone  to  bed,  and  feel  about  in  the 
dark  for  bits  of  biscuit,  or  sangwitches  that  you’d  left  in  the 
office,  or  even  pieces  of  orange  peel  to  put  into  cold  water  and 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


75 


make  believe  it  was  wine.  Did  you  ever  taste  orange  peel  and 
water  ? ” 

Mr.  Swiveller  replied  that  he  had  never  tasted  that  ardent 
liquor ; and  once  more  urged  his  friend  to  resume  the  thread 
of  her  narrative. 

“ If  you  make  believe  very  much,  it’s  quite  nice/’  said  the 
small  servant ; “ but  if  you  don’t,  you  know,  it  seems  as  if  it 
would  bear  a little  more  seasoning,  certainly.  Well,  some- 
times I used  to  come  out  after  they’d  gone  to  bed,  and 
sometimes  before,  you  know;  and  one  or  two  nights  before 
there  was  all. that  precious  noise  in  the  office  — when  the 
young  man  was  took,  I mean  — I come  up  stairs  while  Mr. 
Brass  and  Miss  Sally  was  a sittin’  at  the  office  fire  ; and  I’ll 
tell  you  the  truth,  that  I come  to  listen  again,  about  the  key  of 
the  safe.” 

Mr.  Swiveller  gathered  up  his  knees  so  as  to  make  a great 
cone  of  the  bedclothes,  and  conveyed  into  his  countenance  an 
expression  of  the  utmost  concern.  But,  the  small  servant 
pausing,  and  holding  up  her  finger,  the  cone  gently  disap- 
peared, though  the  look  of  concern  did  not. 

“ There  was  him  and  her,”  said  the  small  servant,  “ a sittin’ 
by  the  fire,  and  talking  softly  together.  Mr.  Brass  says  to 
Miss  Sally,  ‘Upon  my  word,’  he  says,  ‘it’s  a dangerous 
thing,  and  it  might  get  us  into  a world  of  trouble,  and  I don’t 
half  like  it.’  She  says  — you  know  her  way  — she  says, 
‘ You’re  the  chickenest-hearted,  feeblest,  faintest  man  I ever 
see,  and  I think,’  she  says,  ‘that  I ought  to  have  been  the 
brother,  and  you  the  sister.  Isn’t  Quilp,’  she  says,  ‘our 
principal  support  ? ’ ‘ He  certainly  is,’  says  Mr.  Brass. 

‘And  an’t  we,’  she  says,  ‘constantly  ruining  somebody  or 
other  in  the  way  of  business?’  ‘We  certainly  are,’  says 
Mr.  Brass.  ‘ Then  does  it  signify,’  she  says,  ‘ about  ruining 
this  Kit  when  Quilp  desires  it  ? ’ ‘It  certainly  does  not 
signify,’  says  Mr.  Brass.  Then,  they  whispered  and  laughed 
for  a long  time  about  there  being  no  danger  if  it  was  well 
done,  and  then  Mr.  Brass  pulls  out  his  pocket-book,  and  says, 
‘Well,’  he  says,  ‘here  it  is  — Quilp’s  own  five-pound  note. 
We’ll  agree  that  way,  then,’  he  says.  ‘Kit’s  coming  to- 
morrow morning,  I know.  While  he’s  up  stairs,  you’ll  get 


76 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


out  of  the  way,  and  I’ll  clear  off  Mr.  Richard.  Having  Kit 
alone,  I’ll  hold  him  in  conversation,  and  put  this  property  in 
his  hat.  ril  manage  so,  besides/  he  says,  ‘ that  Mr.  Richard 
shall  find  it  there,  and  be  the  evidence.  And  if  that  do  At 
get  Christopher  out  of  Mr.  Quilp’s  way,  and  satisfy  Mr. 
Quilp’s  grudges/  he  says,  ‘the  Devil’s  in  it.’  Miss  Sally 
laughed,  and  said  that  was  the  plan,  and  as  they  seemed  to 
be  moving  away,  and  I was  afraid  to  stop  any  longer,  I went 
down  stairs  again.  — There  ! ” 

The  small  servant  had  gradually  worked  herself  into  as 
much  agitation  as  Mr.  Swiveller,  and  therefore  made  no  effort 
to  restrain  him  when  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  hastily  demanded 
whether  this  story  had  been  told  to  anybody. 

“ How  could  it  be  ? ” replied  his  nurse.  “ I was  almost 
afraid  to  think  about  it,  and  hoped  the  young  man  would  be 
let  off.  When  I heard  ’em  say  they  had  found  him  guilty  of 
what  he  didn’t  do,  you  was  gone,  and  so  was  the  lodger  — 
though  I think  I should  have  been  frightened  to  tell  him, 
even  if  he’d  been  there.  Ever  since  I come  here,  you’ve 
been  out  of  your  senses,  and  what  would  have  been  the  good 
of  telling  you  then  ? ” 

“Marchioness,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  plucking  off  his  night- 
cap and  flinging  it  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  ; “ if  you’ll 
do  me  the  favor  to  retire  for  a few  minutes  and  see  what  sort 
of  a night  it  is,  I’ll  get  up.” 

“ You  mustn’t  think  of  such  a thing,”  cried  his  nurse. 

“I  must  indeed,”  said  the  patient,  looking  round  the  room. 
“ Whereabouts  are  my  clothes  ? ” 

“ Oh  I’m  so  glad  — you  haven’t  got  any,”  replied  the 
Marchioness. 

“ Ma’am  ! ” said  Mr.  Swiveller,  in  great  astonishment. 

“I’ve  been  obliged  to  sell  them,  every  one,  to  get  the 
things  that  was  ordered  for  you.  But  don’t  take  on  about 
that,”  urged  the  Marchioness,  as  Dick  fell  back  upon  his 
pillow.  “You’re  too  weak  to  stand,  indeed.” 

“ I am  afraid,”  said  Richard,  dolefully,  “ that  you’re  right. 
What  ought  I to  do  ! what  is  to  be  done  ! ” 

It  naturally  occurred  to  him  on  very  little  reflection,  that 
the  first  step  to  take  would  be  to  communicate  with  one  of  the 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


77 


Mr.  Garlands  instantly.  It  was  very  possible  that  Mr.  Abel 
had  not  yet  left  the  office.  In  as  little  time  as  it  takes  to  tell 
it,  the  small  servant  had  the  address  in  pencil  on  a piece  of 
paper;  a verbal  description  of  father  and  son,  which  would 
enable  her  to  recognize  either  without  difficulty ; and  a special 
caution  to  be  shy  of  Mr.  Chuckster,  in  consequence  of  that 
gentleman’s  known  antipathy  to  Kit.  Armed  with  these 
slender  powers,  she  hurried  away,  commissioned  to  bring 
either  old  Mr.  Garland  or  Mr.  Abel,  bodily,  to  that  apartment. 

“I  suppose,”  said  Dick,  as  she  closed  the  door  slowly,  and 
peeped  into  the  room  again,  to  make  sure  that  he  was  com- 
fortable, “ I suppose  there’s  nothing  left  — not  so  much  as  a 
waistcoat  even  ? ” 

“No,  nothing.” 

“ It’s  embarrassing,”  said  Mr.  Swiveller,  “ in  case  of  fire 
— even  an  umbrella  would  be  something  — but  you  did  quite 
right,  dear  Marchioness.  I should  have  died  without  you  ! ” 


78 


THE  OLE  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


CHAPTER  X. 


It  was  well  for  the  small  servant  that  she  was  of  a sharp, 
quick  nature,  or  the  consequence  of  sending  her  out  alone, 
from  the  very  neighborhood  in  which  it  was  most  dangerous 
for  her  to  appear,  would  probably  have  been  the  restoration 
of  Miss  Sally  Brass  to  the  supreme  authority  over  her  person. 
Hot  unmindful  of  the  risk  she  ran,  however,  the  Marchioness 
no  sooner  left  the  house  than  she  dived  into  the  first  dark 
by-way  that  presented  itself,  and,  without  any  present  reference 
to  the  point  to  which  her  journey  tended,  made  it  her  first 
business  to  put  two  good  miles  of  brick  and  mortar  between 
herself  and  Bevis  Marks. 

When  she  had  accomplished  this  object,  she  began  to  shape 
her  course  for  the  Notary’s  office,  to  which  — shrewdly  inquir- 
ing of  apple-women  and  oyster-sellers  at  street  corners,  rather 
than  in  lighted  shops  or  of  well-dressed  people,  at  the  hazard 
of  attracting  notice  — she  easily  procured  a direction.  As 
carrier-pigeons,  on  being  first  let  loose  in  a strange  place, 
beat  the  air  at  random  for  a short  time,  before  darting  off 
towards  the  spot  for  which  they  are  designed,  so  did  the 
Marchioness  flutter  round  and  round  until  she  believed  herself 
in  safety,  and  then  bear  swiftly  down  upon  the  port  for  which 
she  was  bound. 

She  had  no  bonnet  — nothing  on  her  head  but  a great  cap 
which,  in  some  old  time,  had  been  worn  by  Sally  Brass,  whose 
taste  in  head-dresses  was,  as  we  have  seen,  peculiar  — and  her 
speed  was  rather  retarded  than  assisted  by  her  shoes,  which, 
being  extremely  large  and  slipshod,  flew  off  every  now  and 
then,  and  were  difficult  to  find  again,  among  the  crowd  of 
passengers.  Indeed,  the  poor  little  creature  experienced  so 
much  trouble  and  delay  from  having  to  grope  for  these  articles 
of  dress  in  mud  and  kennel,  and  suffered  in  these  researches 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP, . 


79 


sq-much  jostling,  pushing,  squeezing,  and  bandying  from  hand 
to  hand,  that  by  the  time  she  reached  the  street  in  which  the 
Notary  lived,  she  was  fairly  worn  out  and  exhausted,  and  could 
not  refrain  from  tears. 

But  to  have  got  there  at  last  was  a great  comfort,  especially 
as  there  were  lights  still  burning  in  the  office  window,  and 
therefore  some  hope  that  she  was  not  too  late.  So,  the  Mar- , 
chioness  dried  her  eyes  with  the  backs  of  her  hands,  and,J 
stealing  softly  up  the  steps,  peeped  in  through  the  glass 
door. 

Mr.  Chuckster  was  standing  behind  the  lid  of  his  desk, 
making  such  preparations  towards  finishing  off  for  the  night, 
as  pulling  down  his  wristbands  and  pulling  up  his  shirt-collar, 
setting  his  neck  more  gracefully  in  his  stock,  and  secretly 
arranging  his  whiskers  by  the  aid  of  a little  triangular  bit  of 
looking-glass.  Before  the  ashes  of  the  fire,  stood  two  gentle- 
men, one  of  whom  she  rightly  judged  to  be  the  Notary,  and 
the  other  (who  was  buttoning  his  great-coat,  and  was  evidently 
about  to  depart  immediately)  Mr.  Abel  Garland. 

Having  made  these  observations,  the  small  spy  took  counsel 
with  herself,  and  resolved  to  wait  in  the  street  until  Mr.  Abel 
came  out,  as  there  would  be  then  no  fear  of  having  to  speak 
before  Mr.  Chuckster,  and  less  difficulty  in  delivering  her 
message.  With  this  purpose  she  slipped  out  again,  and  cross- 
ing the  road,  sat  down  upon  a door-step  just  opposite. 

She  had  hardly  taken  this  position,  when  there  came  danc- 
ing up  the  street,  with  his  legs  all  wrong,  and  his  head 
everywhere  by  turns,  a pony.  This  pony  had  a little  phaeton 
behind  him,  and  a man  in  it ; but,  neither  man  nor  phaeton 
seemed  to  embarrass  him  in  the  least,  as  he  reared  up  on  his 
hind  legs,  or  stopped,  or  went  on,  or  stood  still  again,  or 
backed,  or  went  sideways,  without  the  smallest  reference  to 

them,  — just  as  the  fancy  seized  him,  and  as  if  he  were  the 
freest  animal  in  creation.  When  they  came  to  the  Notary’s 
door,  the  man  called  out  in  a very  respectful  manner,  “ Woa 

then, ”  — intimating  that  if  he  might  venture  to  express  a 
wish,  it  would  be  that  they  stopped  there.  The  pony  made  a 
moment’s  pause ; but,  as  if  it  occurred  to  him  that  to  stop 
when  he  was  required  might  be  to  establish  an  inconvenient 


80 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


and  dangerous  precedent,  he  immediately  started  off  again, 
rattled  at  a fast  trot  to  the  street-corner,  wheeled  round,  came 
back,  and  then  stopped  of  his  own  accord. 

“ Oh  ! you’re  a precious  creatur  ! ” said  the  man  — who 
didn’t  venture  by  the  by  to  come  out  in  his  true  colors  until 
he  was  safe  on  the  pavement.  “ I wish  I had  the  rewarding 
of  you,  — I do.” 

“ What  has  he  been  doing  ? ” said  Mr.  Abel,  tying  a shawl 
round  his  neck  as  he  came  down  the  steps. 

“ He’s  enough  to  fret  a man’s  heart  out,”  replied  the 
hostler.  “He  is  the  most  wicious  rascal  — woa  then,  will 
you  ? ” 

“ He’ll  never  stand  still,  if  you  call  him  names,”  said  Mr. 
Abel,  getting  in,  and  taking  the  reins.  “He’s  a very  good 
fellow  if  you  know  how  to  manage  him.  This  is  the  first 
time  he  has  been  out,  this  long  while,  for  he  has  lost  his  old 
driver  and  wouldn’t  stir  for  anybody  else,  till  this  morning. 
The  lamps  are  right,  are  they  ? That’s  well.  Be  here  to 
take  him  to-morrow,  if  you  please.  Good  night ! ” 

And,  after  one  or  two  strange  plunges,  quite  of  his  own 
invention,  the  pony  yielded  to  Mr.  Abel’s  mildness,  and 
trotted  gently  off. 

All  this  time  Mr.  Chuckster  had  been  standing  at  the  door, 
and  the  small  servant  had  been  afraid  to  approach.  She  had 
nothing  for  it  now,  therefore,  but  to  run  after  the  chaise,  and 
to  call  to  Mr.  Abel  to  stop.  Being  out  of  breath  when  she 
came  up  with  it,  she  was  unable  to  make  him  hear.  The  case 
was  desperate ; for  the  pony  was  quickening  his  pace.  The 
Marchioness  hung  on  behind  for  a few  moments,  and,  feeling 
that  she  could  go  no  farther,  and  must  soon  yield,  clambered 
by  a vigorous  effort  into  the  hinder  seat,  and  in  so  doing  lost 
one  of  the  shoes  for  ever. 

Mr.  Abel  being  in  a thoughtful  frame  of  mind,  and  having 
quite  enough  to  do  to  keep  the  pony  going,  went  jogging  on 
without  looking  round : little  dreaming  of  the  strange  figure 
that  was  close  behind  him,  until  the  Marchioness,  having  in 
some  degree  recovered  her  breath,  and  the  loss  of  her  shoe, 
and  the  novelty  of  her  position,  uttered  close  into  his  ear,  the 
words  — 


GOD  BLESS  ME!  WHAT  IS  THIS?” 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


81 


“I  say,  sir.” 

He  turned  his  head  quickly  enough  then,  and  stopping  the 
pony,  cried,  with  some  trepidation,  “ God  bless  me,  what  is 
this ! ” 

“ Don’t  be  frightened,  sir,”  replied  the  still  panting  messen- 
ger. “ Oh,  I’ve  run  such  a way  after  you  ! ” 

“ What  do  you  want  with  me  ? ” said  Mr.  Abel.  “ How 
did  you  come  here  ? ” 

“ I got  in  behind,”  replied  the  Marchioness.  “Oh  please 
drive  on,  sir  — don’t  stop  — and  go  towards  the  city,  will 
you  ? And  oh  do  please  make  haste,  because  it’s  of  conse- 
quence. There’s  somebody  wants  to  see  you  there.  He  sent 
me  to  say  would  you  come  directly,  and  that  he  knowed  all 
about  Kit,  and  could  save  him  yet,  and  prove  his  innocence.” 

“ What  do  you  tell  me,  child  ? ” 

“ The  truth,  upon  my  word  and  honor  I do.  But  please 
to  drive  on  — quick,  please ! I’ve  been  such  a time  gone, 
he’ll  think  I’m  lost.” 

Mr.  Abel  involuntarily  urged  the  pony  forward.  The  pony, 
impelled  by  some  secret  sympathy  or  some  new  caprice,  burst 
into  a great  pace,  and  neither  slackened  it,  nor  indulged  in 
any  eccentric  performances,  until  they  arrived  at  the  door  of 
Mr.  Swiveller’s  lodging,  where,  marvellous  to  relate,  he  con- 
sented to  stop  when  Mr.  Abel  checked  him. 

“ See ! It’s  that  room  up  there,”  said  the  Marchioness, 
pointing  to  one  where  there  was  a faint  light.  “ Come  ! ” 

Mr.  Abel,  who  was  one  of  the  simplest  and  most  retiring 
creatures  in  existence,  and  naturally  timid  withal,  hesitated ; 
for  he  had  heard  of  people  being  decoyed  into  strange  places 
to  be  robbed  and  murdered,  under  circumstances  very  like  the 
present,  and,  for  anything  he  knew  to  the  contrary,  by  guides 
very  like  the  Marchioness.  His  regard  for  Kit,  however, 
overcame  every  other  consideration.  So,  entrusting  Whisker 
to  the  charge  of  a man  who  was  lingering  hard  by  in  expecta- 
tion of  the  job,  he  suffered  his  companion  to  take  his  hand, 
and  to  lead  him  up  the  dark  and  narrow  stairs. 

He  was  not  a little  surprised  to  find  himself  conducted  into 
a dimly-lighted  sick  chamber,  where  a man  was  sleeping 
tranquilly  in  bed. 

VOL.  II — 6 


82 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


“ An’t  it  nice  to  see  him  lying  there  so  quiet  ? ” said  his 
guide,  in  an  earnest  whisper.  “ Oh ! you’d  say  it  was,  if 
you  had  only  seen  him  two  or  three  days  ago.” 

Mr.  Abel  made  no  answer,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  kept  a 
long  way  from  the  bed  and  very  near  the  door.  His  guide, 
who  appeared  to  understand  his  reluctance,  trimmed  the 
candle,  and  taking  it  in  her  hand,  approached  the  bed.  As 
she  did  so,  the  sleeper  started  up,  and  he  recognized  in  the 
wasted  face  the  features  of  Richard  Swiveller. 

“ Why,  how  is  this  ? ” said  Mr.  Abel,  kindly,  as  he  hurried 
towards  him.  “ You  have  been  ill  ? ” 

“Very,”  replied  Dick.  “Nearly  dead.  You  might  have 
chanced  to  hear  of  your  Kichard  on  his  bier,  but  for  the  friend 
I sent  to  fetch  you.  Another  shake  of  the  hand,  Marchioness, 
if  you  please.  Sit  down,  sir.” 

Mr.  Abel  seemed  rather  astonished  to  hear  of  the  quality  of 
his  guide,  and  took  a chair  by  the  bedside. 

“I  have  sent  for  you,  sir,”  said  Dick — “but  she  told  you 
on  what  account  ? ” 

“ She  did.  I am  quite  bewildered  by  all  this.  I really  don’t 
know  what  to  say  or  think,”  replied  Mr.  Abel. 

“You’ll  say  that,  presently,”  retorted  Dick.  “ Marchioness, 
take  a seat  on  the  bed,  will  you  ? Now,  tell  this  gentleman 
all  that  you  told  me;  and  be  particular.  Don’t  you  speak 
another  word,  sir.” 

The  story  was  repeated ; it  was,  in  effect,  exactly  the  same 
as  before,  without  any  deviation  or  omission.  Kichard  Swiv- 
eller kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  visitor  during  its  narration,  and 
directly  it  was  concluded,  took  the  word  again. 

“ You  have  heard  it  all,  and  you’ll  not  forget  it.  I’m  too 
giddy  and  too  queer  to  suggest  anything ; but  you  and  your 
friends  will  know  what  to  do.  After  this  long  delay,  every 
minute  is  an  age.  If  ever  you  went  home  fast  in  your  life,  go 
home  fast  to-night.  Don’t  stop  to  say  one  word  to  me,  but  go. 
She  will  be  found  here,  whenever  she’s  wanted ; and  as  to  me, 
you’re  pretty  sure  to  find  me  at  home,  for  a week  or  two. 
There  are  more  reasons  than  one  for  that.  Marchioness,  a 
light ! If  you  lose  another  minute  in  looking  at  me,  sir,  I’ll 
never  forgive  you  ! ” 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


83 


Mr.  Abel  needed  no  more  remonstrance  or  persuasion.  He 
was  gone  in  an  instant ; and  the  Marchioness,  returning  from 
lighting  him  down  stairs,  reported  that  the  pony,  without  any 
preliminary  objection  whatever,  had  dashed  away  at  full  gallop. 

“ That’s  right ! ” said  Dick  ; “ and  hearty  of  him ; and  I 
honor  him  from  this  time.  But  get  some  supper  and  a mug  of 
beer,  for  I am  sure  you  must  be  tired.  Do  have  a mug  of  beer. 
It  will  do  me  as  much  good  to  see  you  take  it  as  if  I might 
drink  it  myself.” 

Nothing  but  this  assurance  could  have  prevailed  upon  the 
small  nurse  to  indulge  in  such  a luxury.  Having  eaten  and 
drunk  to  Mr.  Swiveller’s  extreme  contentment,  given  him  his 
drink,  and  put  everything  in  neat  order,  she  wrapped  herself 
in  an  old  coverlet  and  lay  down  upon  the  rug  before  the  fire. 

Mr.  Swiveller  was  by  that  time  murmuring  in  his  sleep, 
“ Strew  then,  oh  strew,  a bed  of  rushes.  Here  will  we  stay, 
till  morning  blushes.  Good  night,  Marchioness  ! ” 


84 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


CHAPTER  XI. 

On  awakening  in  the  morning,  Richard  Swiveller  became 
conscious,  by  slow  degrees,  of  whispering  voices  in  his  room. 
Looking  out  between  the  curtains,  he  espied  Mr.  Garland,  Mr. 
Abel,  the  Notary,  and  the  single  gentleman,  gathered  round  the 
Marchioness,  and  talking  to  her  with  great  earnestness  but  in 
very  subdued  tones  — fearing,  no  doubt,  to  disturb  him.  He 
lost  no  time  in  letting  them  know  that  this  precaution  was 
unnecessary,  and  all  four  gentlemen  directly  approached  his 
bedside.  Old  Mr.  Garland  was  the  first  to  stretch  out  his 
hand  and  inquire  how  he  felt. 

Dick  was  about  to  answer  that  he  felt  much  better,  though 
still  as  weak  as  need  be,  when  his  little  nurse,  pushing  the 
visitors  aside  and  pressing  up  to  his  pillow  as  if  in  jealousy  of 
their  interference,  set  his  breakfast  before  him,  and  insisted  on 
his  taking  it  before  he  underwent  the  fatigue  of  speaking  or 
of  being  spoken  to.  Mr.  Swiveller,  who  was  perfectly  ravenous, 
and  had  had,  all  night,  amazingly  distinct  and  consistent  dreams 
of  mutton  chops,  double  stout,  and  similar  delicacies,  felt  even 
the  weak  tea  and  dry  toast  such  irresistible  temptations,  that 
he  consented  to  eat  and  drink  on  one  condition. 

“And  that  is,”  said  Dick,  returning  the  pressure  of  Mr. 
Garland’s  hand,  “that  you  answer  me  this  question  truly, 
before  I take  a bit  or  drop.  Is  it  too  late  ? ” 

“ Eor  completing  the  work  you  began  so  well  last  night  ? ” 
returned  the  old  gentleman.  “No.  Set  your  mind  at  rest  on 
that  point.  It  is  not,  I assure  you.” 

Comforted  by  this  intelligence,  the  patient  applied  himself 
to  his  food  with  a keen  appetite,  though  evidently  not  with  a 
greater  zest  in  the  eating  than  his  nurse  appeared  to  have  in 
seeing  him  eat.  The  manner  of  his  meal  was  this : — Mr. 
Swiveller,  holding  the  slice  of  toast  or  cup  of  tea  in  his  left 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


85 


hand,  and  taking  a bite  or  drink,  as  the  case  might  be,  con- 
stantly kept,  in  his  right,  one  palm  of  the  Marchioness  tight 
locked : and  to  shake  or  even  to  kiss  this  imprisoned  hand,  he 
would  stop  every  now  and  then,  in  the  very  act  of  swallowing, 
with  perfect  seriousness  of  intention,  and  the  utmost  gravity. 
As  often  as  he  put  anything  into  his  mouth,  whether  for  eat- 
ing or  drinking,  the  face  of  the  Marchioness  lighted  up  beyond 
all  description;  but,  whenever  he  gave  her  one  or  other  of 
these  tokens  of  recognition,  her  countenance  became  overshad- 
owed, and  she  began  to  sob.  Now,  whether  she  was  in  her 
laughing  joy,  or  in  her  crying  one,  the  Marchioness  could  not 
help  turning  to  the  visitors  with  an  appealing  look,  which 
seemed  to  say,  “You  see  this  fellow  — can  I help  this  ? ” — 
and  they,  being  thus  made,  as  it  were,  parties  to  the  scene,  as 
regularly  answered  by  another  look,  “No.  Certainly  not.” 
This  dumb-show,  taking  place  during  the  whole  time  of  the 
invalid’s  breakfast,  and  the  invalid  himself,  pale  and  emaciated, 
performing  no  small  part  in  the  same,  it  may  be  fairly  ques- 
tioned whether  at  any  meal,  where  no  word,  good  or  bad,  was 
spoken  from  beginning  to  end,  so  much  was  expressed  by 
gestures  in  themselves  so  slight  and  unimportant. 

At  length  — and  to  say  the  truth  before  very  long  — Mr. 
Swiveller  had  despatched  as  much  toast  and  tea  as  in  that 
stage  of  his  recovery  it  was  discreet  to  let  him  have.  But,  the 
cares  of  the  Marchioness  did  not  stop  here  ; for,  disappearing 
for  an  instant  and  presently  returning  with  a basin  of  fair 
water,  she  laved  his  face  and  hands,  brushed  his  hair,  and  in 
short  made  him  as  spruce  and  smart  as  anybody  under  such 
circumstances  could  be  made ; and  all  this,  in  as  brisk  and 
business-like  a manner,  as  if  he  were  a very  little  boy,  and  she 
his  grown-up  nurse.  To  these  various  attentions,  Mr.  Swiv- 
eller submitted  in  a kind  of  grateful  astonishment  beyond  the 
reach  of  language.  When  they  were  at  last  brought  to  an  end, 
and  the  Marchioness  had  withdrawn  into  a distant  corner  to 
take  her  own  poor  breakfast  (cold  enough  by  that  time),  he 
turned  his  face  away  for  some  few  moments,  and  shook  hands 
heartily  with  the  air. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Dick,  rousing  himself  from  this  pause, 
and  turning  round  again,  “ you’ll  excuse  me.  Men  who  have 


86 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


been  brought  so  low  as  I have  been,  are  easily  fatigued.  I arn 
fresh  again  now,  and  fit  for  talking.  We’re  short  of  chairs 
here,  among  other  trifles,  but  if  you’ll  do  me  the  favor  to  sit 
upon  the  bed  — ” 

“ What  can  we  do  for  you  ? ” said  Mr.  Garland,  kindly. 

“ If  you  could  make  the  Marchioness  yonder,  a Marchioness, 
in  real,  sober  earnest,”  returned  Dick,  “ I’d  thank  you  to  get 
it  done  off-hand.  But  as  you  can’t,  and  as  the  question  is  not 
what  you  will  do  for  me,  but  what  you  will  do  for  somebody 
else,  who  has  a better  claim  upon  you,  pray,  sir,  let  me  know 
what  you  intend  doing.” 

“It’s  chiefly  on  that  account  that  we  have  come  just  now,” 
said  the  single  gentleman,  “for  you  will  have  another  visitor 
presently.  We  feared  you  would  be  anxious  unless  you  knew 
from  ourselves  what  steps  we  intended  to  take,  and  therefore 
came  to  you  before  we  stirred  in  the  matter.” 

“ Gentlemen,”  returned  Dick,  “ I thank  you.  Anybody  in 
the  helpless  state  that  you  see  me  in,  is  naturally  anxious. 
Don’t  let  me  interrupt  you,  sir.” 

“ Then,  you  see,  my  good  fellow,”  said  the  single  gentleman, 
“ that  while  we  have  no  doubt  whatever  of  the  truth  of  this 
disclosure,  which  has  so  providentially  come  to  light  — ” 

“ — Meaning  hers  ? ” said  Dick,  pointing  towards  the  Mar- 
chioness. 

“ Meaning  hers,  of  course.  While  we  have  no  doubt  of  that, 
or  that  a proper  use  of  it  would  procure  the  poor  lad’s  imme- 
diate pardon  and  liberation,  we  have  a great  doubt  whether  it 
would,  by  itself,  enable  us  to  reach  Quilp,  the  chief  agent  in  this 
villany.  I should  tell  you  that  this  doubt  has  been  confirmed 
into  something  very  nearly  approaching  certainty  by  the  best 
opinions  we  have  been  enabled,  in  this  short  space  of  time,  to 
take  upon  the  subject.  You’ll  agree  with  us,  that  to  give  him 
even  the  most  distant  chance  of  escape,  if  we  could  help  it, 
would  be  monstrous.  You  say  with  us,  no  doubt,  if  somebody 
must  escape,  let  it  be  any  one  but  he.” 

“Yes,”  returned  Dick,  “certainly.  That  is,  if  somebody 
must  — but  upon  my  word,  I’m  unwilling  that  anybody  should. 
Since  laws  were  made  for  every  degree,  to  curb  vice  in  others 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


87 


as  well  as  in  me  — and  so  forth  you  know  — doesn’t  it  strike 
you  in  that  light  ? ” 

The  single  gentleman  smiled  as  if  the  light  in  which  Mr. 
Swiveller  had  put  the  question  were  not  the  clearest  in  the 
world,  and  proceeded  to  explain  that  they  contemplated  pro- 
ceeding by  stratagem  in  the  first  instance ; and  that  their 
design  was,  to  endeavor  to  extort  a cofession  from  the  gentle 
Sarah. 

“ When  she  finds  how  much  we  know,  and  how  we  know  it,” 
he  said,  u and  that  she  is  clearly  compromised  already,  we  are 
not  without  strong  hopes  that  we  may  be  enabled  through  her 
means  to  punish  the  other  two  effectually.  If  we  could  do 
that,  she  might  go  scot-free  for  aught  I cared.” 

Dick  received  this  project  in  anything  but  a gracious  man- 
ner, representing  with  as  much  warmth  as  he  was  then  capable  ‘ 
of  showing,  that  they  would  find  the  old  buck  (meaning  Sarah) 
more  difficult  to  manage  than  Quilp  himself  — that,  for  any 
tampering,  terrifying,  or  cajolery,  she  was  a very  unpromising 
and  unyielding  subject  — that  she  was  of  a kind  of  brass  not 
easily  melted  or  moulded  into  shape  - — in  short,  that  they  were 
no  match  for  her,  and  would  be  signally  defeated.  But,  it  was 
in  vain  to  urge  them  to  adopt  some  other  course.  The  single 
gentleman  has  been  described  as  explaining  their  joint  inten- 
tions, but  it  should  have  been  written  that  they  all  spoke 
together ; that  if  any  one  of  them  by  chance  held  his  peace  for 
a moment,  he  stood  gasping  and  panting  for  an  opportunity  to 
strike  in  again ; in  a word,  that  they  had  reached  that  pitch 
of  impatience  and  anxiety  where  men  can  neither  be  persuaded 
nor  reasoned  with;  and  that  it  would  have  been  as  easy  to 
turn  the  most  impetuous  wind  that  ever  blew,  as  to  prevail 
on  them  to  reconsider  their  determination,  so,  after  telling 
Mr.  Swiveller  how  they  had  not  lost  sight  of  Kit’s  mother 
and  the  children ; how  they  had  never  once  even  lost  sight  of 
Kit  himself,  but  had  been  unremitting  in  their  endeavors  to 
procure  a mitigation  of  his  sentence ; how  they  had  been  per- 
fectly distracted  between  the  strong  proofs  of  his  guilt,  and 
their  own  fading  hopes  of  his  innocence  ; and  how  he,  Bichard 
Swiveller,  might  keep  his  mind  at  rest,  for  everything  should 
be  happily  adjusted  between  that  time  and  night ; — after  tell- 


88 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


ing  him  all  this,  and  adding  a great  many  kind  and  cordial 
expressions,  personal  to  himself,  which  it  is  unnecessary  to 
recite,  Mr.  Garland,  the  Notary,  and  the  single  gentleman,  took 
their  leaves  at  a very  critical  time,  or  Richard  Swiveller  must 
assuredly  have  been  driven  into  a another  fever,  whereof  the 
results  might  have  been  fatal. 

Mr.  Abel  remained  behind,  very  often  looking  at  his  watch 
and  at  the  room  door,  until  Mr.  Swiveller  was  roused  from  a 
short  nap,  by  the  setting-down  on  the  landing-place  outside, 
as  from  the  shoulders  of  a porter,  of  some  giant  load,  which 
seemed  to  shake  the  house,  and  make  the  little  physic  bottles 
on  the  mantle-shelf  ring  again.  Directly  this  sound  reached 
his  ears,  Mr.  Abel  started  up,  and  hobbled  to  the  door,  and 
opened  it ; and  behold ! there  stood  a strong  man,  with  a 
mighty  hamper,  which,  being  hauled  into  the  room  and  pres- 
ently unpacked,  disgorged  such  treasures  of  tea,  and  coffee, 
and  wine,  and  rusks,  and  oranges,  and  grapes,  and  fowls  ready 
trussed  for  boiling,  and  calves’-foot  jelly,  and  arrow-root,  and 
sago,  and  other  delicate  restoratives,  that  the  small  servant 
who  had  never  thought  it  possible  that  such  things  could  be, 
except  in  shops,  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  in  her  one  shoe,  with 
her  mouth  and  eyes  watering  in  unison,  and  her  power  of 
speech  quite  gone.  But,  not  so  Mr.  Abel ; or  the  strong  man 
who  emptied  the  hamper,  big  as  it  wxas,  in  a twinkling ; and 
not  so  the  nice  old  lady,  who  appeared  so  suddenly  that  she 
might  have  come  out  of  the  hamper  too  (it  was  quite  large 
enough),  and  who  bustling  about  on  tiptoe  and  without  noise 
— now  here,  now  there,  now  everywhere  at  once  — began  to 
fill  out  the  jelly  in  teacups,  and  to  make  chicken  broth  in 
small  saucepans,  and  to  peel  oranges  for  the  sick  man  and  to 
cut  them  up  in  little  pieces,  and  to  ply  the  small  servant  with 
glasses  of  wine  and  choice  bits  of  everything  until  more  sub- 
stantial meat  could  be  prepared  for  her  refreshment.  The 
whole  of  which  appearances  were  so  unexpected  and  bewilder- 
ing, that  Mr.  Swiveller  when  he  had  taken  two  oranges  and 
a little  jelly,  and  had  seen  the  strong  man  walk  off  with  the 
empty  basket,  plainly  leaving  all  that  abundance  for  his  use 
and  benefit,  was  fain  to  lie  down  and  fall  asleep  again,  from 
sheer  inability  to  entertain  such  wonders  in  his  mind. 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP . '♦  89 

Meanwhile  the  single  gentleman,  the  Notary,  and  Mr. 
Garland,  repaired  to  a certain  coffee  house,  and  from  that 
place  indited  and  sent  a letter  to  Miss  Sally  Brass,  requesting 
her,  in  terms  mysterious  and  brief,  to  favor  an  unknown  friend 
who  wished  to  consult  her,  with  her  company  there,  as  speedily 
as  possible.  The  communication  performed  its  errand  so  well, 
that  within  ten  minutes  of  the  messenger’s  return  and  report 
of  its  delivery,  Miss  Brass  herself  was  announced. 

“ Bray,  ma’am,”  said  the  single  gentleman,  whom  she  found 
alone  in  the  room,  “ take  a chair.” 

Miss  Brass  sat  herself  down  in  a very  stiff  and  frigid  state, 
and  seemed  — as  indeed  she  was  — not  a little  astonished  to 
find  that  the  lodger  and  her  mysterious  correspondent  were 
one  and  the  same  person. 

“ You  did  not  expect  to  see  me  ? ” said  the  single  gentleman. 

“ I didn’t  think  much  about  it,”  returned  the  beauty.  “ I 
supposed  it  was  business  of  some  kind  or  other.  If  it’s  about 
the  apartments,  of  course  you’ll  give  my  brother  regular 
notice,  you  know  — or  money.  That’s  very  easily  settled. 
You’re  a responsible  party,  and  in  such  a case  lawful  money 
and  lawful  notice  are  pretty  much  the  same.” 

“ I am  obliged  to  you  for  your  good  opinion,”  retorted  the 
single  gentleman,  “ and  quite  concur  in  those  sentiments. 
But,  that  is  not  the  subject  on  which  I wish  to  speak  with 
you.” 

“ Oh ! ” said  Sally.  “ Then  just  state  the  particulars,  will 
you  ? I suppose  it’s  professional  business  ? ” 

“Why  it  is  connected  with  the  law,  certainly.” 

“Very  well,”  returned  Miss  Brass.  “My  brother  and  I are 
just  the  same.  I can  take  any  instructions  or  give  you  any 
advice.” 

“As  there  are  other  parties  interested  beside  myself,”  said 
the  single  gentleman,  rising  and  opening  the  door  of  an  inner 
room,  “we  had  better  confer  together.  Miss  Brass  is  here, 
gentlemen ! ” 

Mr.  Garland  and  the  Notary  walked  in,  looking  very  grave : 
and,  drawing  up  two  chairs,  one  on  each  side  of  the  single 
gentleman,  formed  a kind  of  fence  round  the  gentle  Sarah,  and 
penned  her  into  a corner.  Her  brother  Sampson  under  such 


90 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


circumstances  would  certainly  have  evinced  some  confusion  or 
anxiety,  but  she  — all  composure  — pulled  out  the  tin  box  and 
calmly  took  a pinch  of  snuff. 

“Miss  Brass/5  said  the  Notary,  taking  the  word  at  this 
crisis,  “we  professional  people  understand  each  .other,  and, 
when  we  choose,  can  say  what  we  have  to  say,  in  very  few 
words.  You  advertised  a runaway  servant,  the  other  day  ? 55 

“Well/5  returned  Miss  Sally,  with  a sudden  flush  over- 
spreading her  features,  “ what  of  that  ? 55 

“She  is  found,  ma’am/5  said  the  Notary,  pulling  out  his 
pocket-handkerchief  with  a flourish.  “ She  is  found.55 

“ Who  found  her  ? 55  demanded  Sarah,  hastily. 

“We  did  ma’am  — we  three.  Only  last  night,  or  you  would 
have  heard  from  us  before.55 

“And  now  I have  heard  from  you,”  said  Miss  Brass,  fold- 
ing her  arms  as  though  she  were  about  to  deny  something 
to  the  death,  “ what  have  you  got  to  say  ? Something  you 
have  got  into  your  heads  about  her,  of  course.  Prove  it,  will 
you  — that’s  all.  Prove  it.  You  have  found  her,  you  say. 
I can  tell  you  (if  you  don’t  know  it)  that  you  have  found  the 
most  artful,  lying,  pilfering,  devilish  little  minx  that  was  ever 
born.  — Have  you  got  her  here  ? ” she  added,  looking  sharply 
round. 

“No,  she  is  not  here  at  present,”  returned  the  Notary. 
“ But  she  is  quite  safe.” 

“ Ha ! ” cried  Sally,  twitching  a pinch  of  snuff  out  of  her 
box,  as  spitefully  as  if  she  were  in  the  very  act  of  wrenching 
off  the  small  servant’s  nose ; “ she  shall  be  safe  enough  from 
this  time,  I warrant  you.” 

“I  hope  so,”  replied  the  Notary.  — “Did  it  occur  to  you  for 
the  first  time,  when  you  found  she  had  run  away,  that  there 
were  two  keys  to  your  kitchen  door  ? ” 

Miss  Sally  took  another  pinch,  and,  putting  her  head  on  one 
side,  looked  at  her  questioner,  with  a curious  kind  of  spasm 
about  her  mouth,  but  with  a cunning  aspect  of  immense 
expression. 

“Two  keys,”  repeated  the  Notary;  “one  of  which  gave 
her  the  opportunities  of  roaming  through  the  house  at  nights 
when  you  supposed  her  fast  locked  up,  and  of  overhearing 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


91 


confidential  consultations  — among  others,  that  particular  con- 
ference, to  be  described  to-day  before  a justice,  which  you  will 
have  an  opportunity  of  hearing  her  relate ; that  conference 
which  you  and  Mr.  Brass  held  together,  on  the  night  before 
that  most  unfortunate  and  innocent  young  man  was  accused  of 
robbery,  by  a horrible  device  of  which  I will  only  say  that  it 
may  be  characterized  by  the  epithets  you  have  applied  to  this 
wretched  little  witness,  and  by  a few  stronger  ones  besides.7’ 

Sally  took  another  pinch.  Although  her  face  was  wonder- 
fully composed,  it  was  apparent  that  she  was  wholly  taken  by 
surprise,  and  that  what  she  had  expected  to  be  taxed  with, 
in  connection  with  her  small  servant,  was  something  very 
different  from  this. 

“Come,  come,  Miss  Brass,”  said  the  Notary,  “you  have 
great  command  of  feature,  but  you  feel,  I see,  that  by  a 
chance  which  never  entered  your  imagination,  this  base 
design  is  revealed,  and  two  of  its  plotters  must  be  brought  to 
justice.  Now,  you  know  the  pains  and  penalties  ^ou  are 
liable  to,  and  so  I need  not  dilate  upon  them,  but  I have  a 
proposal  to  make  to  you.  You  have  the  honor  of  being  sister 
to  one  of  the  greatest  scoundrels  unhung;  and,  if  I may 
venture  to  say  so  to  a lady,  you  are  in  every  respect  quite 
worthy  of  him.  But,  connected  with  you  two  is  a third  party, 
a villain  of  the  name  of  Quilp,  the  prime  mover  of  the  whole 
diabolical  device,  who  I believe  to  be  worse  than  either.  For 
his  sake,  Miss  Brass,  do  us  the  favor  to  reveal  the  whole 
history  of  this  affair.  Let  me  remind  you  that  your  doing  so, 
at  our  instance,  will  place  you  in  a safe  and  comfortable 
position  — your  present  one  is  not  desirable  — and  cannot 
injure  your  brother ; for  against  him  and  you  we  have  quite 
sufficient  evidence  (as  you  hear)  already.  I will  not  say  to 
you  that  we  suggest  this  course  in  mercy  (for,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  we  do  not  entertain  any  regard  for  you),  but  it  is  a 
necessity  to  which  we  are  reduced,  and  I recommend  it  to  you 
as  a matter  of  the  very  best  policy.  Time,”  said  Mr. 
Witherden,  pulling  out  his  watch,  “ in  a business  like  this, 
is  exceedingly  precious.  Favor  us  with  your  decision  as 
speedily  as  possible,  ma’am.” 

With  a smile  upon  her  face,  and  looking  at  each  of  the 


92 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


three  by  turns,  Miss  Brass  took  two  or  three  more  pinches  of 
snuff,  and  having  by  this  time  very  little  left,  travelled  round 
and  round  the  box  with  her  forefinger  and  thumb,  scraping  up 
another.  Having  disposed  of  this  likewise  and  put  the  box 
carefully  in  her  pocket,  she  said, 

“I  am  to  accept  or  reject  at  once,  am  I ?” 

“Yes,”  said  Mr.  Witherden. 

The  charming  creature  was  opening  her  lips  to  speak  in 
reply,  when  the  door  was  hastily  opened  too,  and  the  head  of 
Sampson  Brass  was  thrust  into  the  room. 

“Excuse  me,”  said  that  gentleman,  hastily.  “Wait  a bit ! ” 

So  saying,  and  quite  indifferent  to  the  astonishment  his 
presence  occasioned,  he  crept  in,  shut  the  door,  kissed  his 
greasy  glove  as  servilely  as  if  it  were  the  dust,  and  made  a 
most  abject  bow. 

“ Sarah,”  said  Brass,  “ hold  your  tongue  if  you  please,  and 
let  me  speak.  Gentlemen,  if  I could  express  the  pleasure  it 
gives  me  to  see  three  such  men  in  a happy  unity  of  feeling 
and  concord  of  sentiment,  I think  you  would  hardly  believe 
me.  But  though  I am  unfortunate  — nay,  gentlemen,  criminal, 
if  we  are  to  use  harsh  expressions  in  a company  like  this,  — 
still,  I have  my  feelings  like  other  men.  I have  heard  of  a 
poet,  who  remarked  that  feelings  were  the  common  lot  of  all. 
If  he  could  have  been  a pig,  gentlemen,  and  have  uttered  that 
sentiment,  he  would  still  have  been  immortal.” 

“If  you’re  not  an  idiot,”  said  Miss  Bra.ss,  harshly,  “hold 
your  peace.” 

“ Sarah,  my  dear,”  returned  her  brother,  “ thank  you.  But 
I know  what  I am  about,  my  love,  and  will  take  the  liberty 
of  expressing  myself  accordingly.  Mr.  Witherden,  sir,  your 
handkerchief  is  hanging  out  of  your  pocket  — would  you 
allow  me  to  — ” 

As  Mr.  Brass  advanced  to  remedy  this  accident,  the  Notary 
shrunk  from  him  with  an  air  of  disgust.  Brass,  who  over 
and  above  his  usual  prepossessing  qualities,  had  a scratched 
face,  a green  shade  over  one  eye,  and  a hat  grievously  crushed, 
stopped  short,  and  looked  round  with  a pitiful  smile. 

“He  shuns  me,”  said  Sampson,  “even  when  I would,  as  I 
may  say,  heap  coals  of  fire  upon  his  head.  Well ! Ah ! But 


MISS  BRASS  AT  RAY. 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSJTY  SHOP . 


93 


I am  a falling  house,  and  the  rats  (if  I may  be  allowed  the 
expression  in  reference  to  a gentleman  I respect  and  love  be- 
yond everything)  fly  from  me  ! Gentlemen  — regarding  your 
conversation  just  now,  I happened  to  see  my  sister  on  her 
way  here,  and,  wondering  where  she  could  be  going  to,  and 
being — may  I venture  to  say?  — naturally  of  a suspicious 
turn,  followed  her.  Since  then,  I have  been  listening.’7 

“If  you’re  not  mad,”  interposed  Miss  Sally,  “stop  there, 
and  say  no  more.” 

“Sarah,  my  dear,”  rejoined  Brass -with  undiminished  polite- 
ness, “I  thank  you  kindly,  but  will  still  proceed.  Mr.  Wither-  \ 
den,  sir,  as  we  have  the  honor  to  be  members  of  the  same  pro-  / 
fession  — to  say  nothing  of  that  other  gentleman  having  been 
my  lodger,  and  having  partaken,  as  one  may  say,  of  the  hospi- 
tality of  my  roof  — I think  you  might  have  given  me  the 
refusal  of  this  offer  in  the  first  instance.  I do  indeed.  Now, 
my  dear  sir,”  cried  Brass,  seeing  that  the  Notary  was  about  to 
interrupt  him,  “suffer  me  to  speak,  I beg.” 

Mr.  Witherden  was  silent,  and  Brass  went  on. 

“ If  you  will  do  me  the  favor,”  he  said,  holding  up  the  green 
shade,  and  revealing  an  eye  most  horribly  discolored,  “ to  look 
at  this,  you  will  naturally  inquire,  in  your  own  minds,  how 
did  I get  it.  If  you  look  from  that,  to  my  face,  you  will 
wonder  what  could  have  been  the  cause  of  all  these  scratches. 
And  if  from  them  to  my  hat,  how  it  came  into  the  state  in 
which  you  see  it.  Gentlemen,”  said  Brass,  striking  the  hat 
fiercely  with  his  clenched  hand,  “to  all  these  questions  I 
answer  — Quilp ! ” ‘ 

The  three  gentlemen  looked  at  each  other,  but  said  nothing. 

“ I say,”  pursued  Brass,  glacing  aside  at  his  sister,  as  though 
he  were  talking  for  her  information,  and  speaking  with  a snarl- 
ing malignity,  in  violent  contrast  to  his  usual  smoothness, 
“that  I answer  to  all  these  questions,  — Quilp  — Quilp,  who 
deludes  me  into  his  infernal  den,  and  takes  a delight  in  look- 
ing on  and  chuckling  while  I scorch,  and  burn,  and  bruise,  and 
maim  myself  — Quilp,  who  never  once,  no  never  once,  in  all 
our  communications  together,  has  treated  me  otherwise  than 
as  a dog  — Quilp,  whom  I have  always  hated  with  my  whole 
heart,  but  never  so  much  as  lately.  He  gives  me  the  cold 


94 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


shoulder  on  this  very  matter  as  if  he  had  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  instead  of  being  the  first  to  propose  it.  I can’t  trust 
him.  In  one  of  his  howling,  raving,  blazing  humors,  I believe 
he’d  let  it  out,  if  it  was  murder,  and  never  think  of  himself 
so  long  as  he  could  terrify  me.  Now,”  said  Brass,  picking  up 
his  hat  again,  replacing  the  shade  over  his  eye,  and  actually 
crouching  down,  in  the  excess  of  his  servility,  “ what  does  all 
this  lead  me  to  ? — what  should  you  say  it  led  me  to,  gentle- 
men ? — could  you  guess  at  all  near  the  mark  ? ” 

Nobody  spoke.  Brass  stood  smirking  for  a little  while,  as 
if  he  had  propounded  some  choice  conundrum  ; and  then  said  : 
“ To  be  short  with  you,  then,  it  leads  me  to  this.  If  the 
truth  has  come  out,  as  it  plainly  lias  in  a manner  that  there’s 
no  standing  up  against  — and  a very  sublime  and  grand  thing 
is  Truth,  gentlemen,  in  its  way,  though  like  other  sublime  and 
grand  things,  such  as  thunder-storms  and  that,  we’re  not 
always  over  and  above  glad  to  see  it  — I had  better  turn  upon 
this  man  than  let  this  man  turn  upon  me.  It’s  clear  to  me 
that  I am  done  for.  Therefore,  if  anybody  is  to  split,  I had 
better  be  the  person  and  have  the  advantage  of  it.  Sarah, 
my  dear,  comparatively  speaking,  you’re  safe.  I relate  these 
circumstances  for  my  own  profit.” 

With  that,  Mr.  Brass,  in  a great  hurry,  revealed  the  whole 
story ; bearing  as  heavily  as  possible  on  his  amiable  employer, 
and  making  himself  out  to  be  rather  a saint-like  and  holy 
character,  though  subject  — he  acknowledged  — to  human 
weaknesses.  He  concluded  thus  : 

“Now,  gentlemen,  I am  not  a man  who  does  things  by 
halves.  Being  in  for  a penny,  I am  ready,  as  the  saying  is,  to 
be  in  for  a pound.  You  must  do  with  me  what  you  please,  and 
take  me  where  you  please.  If  you  wish  to  have  this  in  writ- 
ing, we’ll  reduce  it  into  manuscript  immediately.  You  will  be 
tender  with  me,  I am  sure.  I am  quite  confident  you  will  be 
tender  with  me.  You  are  men  of  honor,  and  have  feeling 
hearts.  I yielded  from  necessity  to  Quilp,  for  though  neces- 
sity has  no  law,  she  has  her  lawyers.  I yield  to  you  from 
necessity  too ; from  policy  besides ; and  because  of  feelings 
that  have  been  a pretty  long  time  working  within  me.  Punish 
Quilp,  gentlemen.  Weigh  heavily  upon  him.  Grind  him 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


95 


down.  Tread  him  under  foot.  He  has  done  as  much  by  me, 
for  many  and  many  a day.” 

Having  now  arrived  at  the  conclusion  of  his  discourse, 
Sampson  checked  the  current  of  his  wrath,  kissed  his  glove 
again,  and  smiled  as  only  parasites  and  cowards  can. 

“And  this,”  said  Miss  Brass,  raising  her  head,  with  which 
she  had  hitherto  sat  resting  on  her  hands,  and  surveying  him 
from  head  to  foot  with  a bitter  sneer,  “ this  is  my  brother,  is 
it ! This  is  my  brother,  that  I have  worked  and  toiled  for,  and 
believed  to  have  had  something  of  the  man  in  him  ! ” 

“Sarah,  my  dear,”  returned  Sampson,  rubbing  his  hands 
feebly ; “ you  disturb  our  friends.  Besides  you  — you’re  dis- 
appointed, Sarah,  and,  not  knowing  what  you  say,  expose 
yourself.” 

“Yes,  you  pitiful  dastard,”  retorted  the  lovely  damsel,  “I 
understand  you.  You  feared  that  I should  be  beforehand 
with  you.  But  do  you  think  that  I would  have  been  enticed 
to  say  a word ! I’d  have  scorned  it,  if  they  had  tried  and 
tempted  me  for  twenty  years.” 

“ He,  he ! ” simpered  Brass,  who,  in  his  deep  debasement, 
really  seemed  to  have  changed  sexes  with  his  sister,  and  to 
have  made  over  to  her  any  spark  of  manliness  he  might  have 
possessed.  “You  think  so,  Sarah,  you  think  so  perhaps;  but 
you  would  have  acted  quite  different,  my  good  fellow.  You 
will  not  have  forgotten  that  it  was  a maxim  with  Foxey  — 
our  revered  father,  gentlemen  — ‘ Always  suspect  everybody.’ 
That’s  the  maxim  to  go  through  life  with ! If  you  were  not 
actually  about  to  purchase  your  own  safety  when  I showed 
myself,  I suspect  you’d  have  done  it  by  this  time.  And  there- 
fore I’ve  done  it  myself,  and  spared  you  the  trouble  as  well  as 
the  shame.  The  shame,  gentlemen,”  added  Brass,  allowing 
himself  to  be  slightly  overcome,  “if  there  is  any,  is  mine. 
It’s  better  that  a female  should  be  spared  it.” 

With  deference  to  the  better  opinion  of  Mr.  Brass,  and  more 
particularly  to  the  authority  of  his  Great  Ancestor,  it  may  be 
doubted,  with  humility,  whether  the  elevating  principle  laid 
down  by  the  latter  gentleman,  and  acted  upon  by  his  descend- 
ant, is  always  a prudent  one,  or  attended  in  practice  with  the 
desired  results.  This  is,  beyond  question,  a bold  and  pre-  ^ 


96 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SWOP. 


sumptuous  doubt,  inasmuch  as  many  distinguished  characters, 
called  men  of  the  world,  long-headed  customers,  knowing  dogs, 
shrewd  fellows,  capital  hands  at  business,  and  the  like,  have 
made,  and  do  daily  make,  this  axiom  their  polar  star  and  com- 
pass. Still,  the  doubt  may  be  gently  insinuated.  And  in 
illustration  it  may  be  observed  that  if  Mr.  Brass,  not  being 
over-suspicious,  had,  without  prying  and  listening,  left  his  sis- 
ter to  manage  the  conference  on  their  joint  behalf,  or,  prying 
and  listening,  had  not  been  in  such  a mighty  hurry  to  antici- 
pate her  (which  he  would  not  have  been,  but  for  his  distrust 
and  jealousy),  he  would  probably  have  found  himself  much 
better  off  in  the  end.  Thus,  it  will  always  happen  that  these 
men  of  the  world,  who  go  through  it  in  armor,  defend  them- 
selves from  quite  as  much  good  as  evil ; to  say  nothing  of  the 
inconvenience  and  absurdity  of  mounting  guard  with  a micro- 
scope at  all  times,  and  of  wearing  a coat  of  mail  on  the  most 
innocent  occasions. 

The  three  gentlemen  spoke  together  apart,  for  a few  mo- 
ments. At  the  end  of  their  consultation,  which  was  very  brief, 
the  Notary  pointed  to  the  writing  materials  on  the  table,  and 
informed  Mr.  Brass  that  if  he  wished  to  make  any  statement 
in  writing,  he  had  the  opportunity  of  doing  so.  At  the  same 
time  he  felt  bound  to  tell  him  that  they  would  require  his 
attendance,  presently,  before  a justice  of  the  peace,  and  that 
in  what  he  did  or  said,  he  was  guided  entirely  by  his  own  dis- 
cretion. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Brass,  drawing  . off  his  gloves,  and 
crawling  in  spirit  upon  the  ground  before  them,  “I  will 
justify  the  tenderness  with  which  I know  I shall  be  treated  ; 
and  as,  without  tenderness,  I should,  now  that  this  discovery 
has  been  made,  stand  in  the  worst  position  of  the  three,  you 
may  depend  upon  it  I will  make  a clean  breast.  Mr.  Wither- 
den,  sir,  a kind  of  faintness  is  upon  my  spirits  — if  you  would 
do  me  the  favor  to  ring  the  bell  and  order  up  a glass  of  some- 
thing warm  and  spicy,  I shall,  notwithstanding  what  has 
passed,  have  a melancholy  pleasure  in  drinking  your  good 
health.  I had  hoped,”  said  Brass,  looking  round  with  a 
mournful  smile,  “ to  have  seen  you  three  gentlemen,  one  day 
or  another,  with  your  legs  under  the  mahogany  in  my  hum- 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


97 


bie  parlor  in  tlie  Marks.  But  hopes  are  fleeting.  Dear 
me ! ” 

Mr.  Brass  found  himself  so  exceedingly  affected,  at  this 
point,  that  he  could  say  or  do  nothing  more  until  some 
refreshment  arrived.  Having  partaken  of  it,  pretty  freely  for 
one  in  his  agitated  state,  he  sat  down  to  write. 

The  lovely  Sarah,  now  with  her  arms  folded,  and  now  with 
her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  paced  the  room  with  many 
strides,  while  her  brother  was  thus  employed,  and  sometimes 
stopped  to  pull  out  her  snuff-box  and  bite  the  lid.  She  con- 
tinued to  pace  up  and  down  until  she  was  quite  tired,  and 
then  fell  asleep  on  a chair  near  the  door. 

It  has  been  since  supposed,  with  some  reason,  that  this 
slumber  was  a sham  or  feint,  as  she  contrived  to  slip  away 
unobserved  in  the  dusk  of  the  afternoon.  Whether  this  was 
an  intentional  and  waking  departure,  or  a somnambulistic 
leave-taking  and  walking  in  her  sleep,  may  remain  a subject 
of  contention;  but,  on  one  point  (and  indeed  the  main  one), 
all  parties  are  agreed.  In  whatever  state  she  walked  away, 
she  certainly  did  not  walk  back  again. 

Mention  having  been  made  of  the  dusk  of  the  afternoon,  it 
will  be  inferred  that  Mr.  Brass’s  task  occupied  some  time  in 
the  completion.  It  was  not  finished  until  evening;  but,  being 
done  at  last,  that  worthy  person  and  the  three  friends  adjourned 
in  a hackney-coach  to  the  private  office  of  a Justice,  who, 
giving  Mr.  Brass  a warm  reception  and  detaining  him  in  a 
secure  place  that  he  might  insure  to  himself  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him  on  the  morrow,  dismissed  the  others  with  the 
cheering  assurance  that  a warrant  could  not  fail  to  be  granted 
next  day  for  the  apprehension  of  Mr.  Quilp,  and  that  a 
proper  application  and  statement  of  all  the  circumstances  to 
the  secretary  of  state  (who  was  fortunately  in  town),  would 
no  doubt  procure  Kit’s  free  pardon  and  liberation  without 
delay. 

And  now,  indeed,  it  seemed  that  Quilp’s  malignant  career 
was  drawing  to  a close,  and  that  retribution,  which  often 
travels  slowly  — especially  when  heaviest  — had  tracked  his 
footsteps  with  a sure  and  certain  scent,  and  was  gaining  on 
him  fast.  Unmindful  of  her  stealthy  tread,  her  victim  holds 

VOL.  II — 7 


98 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


his  course  in  fancied  triumph.  Still  at  his  heels  she  comes, 
and  once  afoot,  is  never  turned  aside ! 

Their  business  ended,  the  three  gentlemen  hastened  back  to 
the  lodgings  of  Mr.  Swiveller,  whom  they  found  progressing 
so  favorably  in  his  recovery  as  to  have  been  able  to  sit  up  for 
half  an  hour,  and  to  have  conversed  with  cheerfulness.  Mrs. 
Garland  had  gone  home  some  time  since,  but  Mr.  Abel  was 
still  sitting  with  him.  After  telling  him  all  they  had  done, 
the  two  Mr.  Garlands  and  the  single  gentleman,  as  if  by  some 
previous  understanding,  took  their  leaves  for  the  night,  leav- 
ing the  invalid  alone  with  the  Notary  and  the  small  servant. 

“ As  you  are  so  much  better,”  said  Mr.  Witherden,  sitting 
down  at  the  bedside,  “ I may  venture  to  communicate  to  you 
a piece  of  news  which  has  come  to  me  professionally.” 

The  idea  of  any  professional  intelligence  from  a gentleman 
connected  with  legal  matters,  appeared  to  afford  Eichard  any- 
thing but  a pleasing  anticipation.  Perhaps  he  connected  it  in 
his  own  mind  with  one  or  two  outstanding  accounts,  in  refer- 
ence to  which  he  had  already  received  divers  threatening  let- 
ters. His  countenance  fell  as  he  replied, 

“ Certainly,  sir.  I hope  it?s  not  anything  of  a very  dis- 
agreeable nature,  though  ? ” 

“ If  I thought  it  so,  I should  choose  some  better  time  for 
communicating  it,”  replied  the  Notary.  “Let  me  tell  you, 
first,  that  my  friends  who  have  been  here  to-day  know  noth- 
ing of  it,  and  that  their  kindness  to  you  has  been  quite  spon- 
taneous and  with  no  hope  of  return.  It  may  do  a thoughtless, 
careless  man,  good,  to  know  that.” 

Dick  thanked  him,  and  said  he  hoped  it  would. 

“I  have  been  making  some  inquiries  about  you,”  said  Mr. 
Witherden,  “ little  thinking  that  I should  find  you  under  such 
circumstances  as  those  which  have  brought  us  together.  You 
are  the  nephew  of  Eebecca  Swiveller,  spinster,  deceased,  of 
Cheselbourne  in  Dorsetshire.” 

“ Deceased  ! ” cried  Dick. 

“ Deceased.  If  you  had  been  another  sort  of  nephew,  you 
would  have  come  into  possession  (so  says  the  will,  and  I see 
no  reason  to*  doubt  it)  of  five-and-twenty  thousand  pounds. 
As  it  is,  you  have  fallen  into  an  annuity  of  one  hundred  and 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


99 


fifty  pounds  a year ; but  I think  I may  congratulate  you  even 
upon  that.” 

“Sir,”  said  Dick,  sobbing  and  laughing  together,  “you  may. 
For,  please  God,  we’ll  make  a scholar  of  the  poor  Marchion- 
ess, yet ! And  she  shall  walk  in  silk  attire,  and  siller  have 
to  spare,  or  may  I never  rise  from  this  bed  again ! ” 


100 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


CHAPTEB  XII. 

Unconscious  of  the  proceedings  faithfully  narrated  in  the 
last  chapter,  and  little  dreaming  of  the  mine  which  had  been 
sprung  beneath  him  (for,  to  the  end  that  he  should  have  no 
warning  of  the  business  a-foot,  the  profoundest  secrecy  was 
observed  in  the  whole  transaction),  Mr.  Quilp  remained  shut 
up  in  his  hermitage,  undisturbed  by  any  suspicion,  and  ex- 
tremely well  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  machinations. 
Being  engaged  in  the  adjustment  of  some  accounts  — an  occu- 
pation to  which  the  silence  and  solitude  of  his  retreat  were 
very  favorable — he  had  not  strayed  from  his  den  for  two 
whole  days.  The  third  day  of  his  devotion  to  this  pursuit 
found  him  still  hard  at  work,  and  little  disposed  to  stir  abroad. 

It  was  the  day  next  after  Mr.  Brass’s  confession,  and  con- 
sequently, that  which  threatened  the  restriction  of  Mr.  Quilp’s 
liberty,  and  the  abrupt  communication  to  him  of  some  very 
unpleasant  and  unwelcome  facts.  Having  no  intuitive  per- 
ception of  the  cloud  which  lowered  upon  his  house,  the  dwarf 
was  in  his  ordinary  state  of  cheerfulness  ; and,  when  he  found 
he  was  becoming  too  much  engrossed  by  business  with  a due 
regard  to  his  health  and  spirits,  he  varied  its  monotonous 
routine  with  a little  screeching,  or  howling,  or  some  other 
innocent  relaxation  of  that  nature. 

He  was  attended,  as  usual,  by  Tom  Scott,  who  sat  crouching 
over  the  fire  after  the  manner  of  a toad,  and,  from  time  to 
time,  when  his  master’s  back  was  turned,  imitated  his  grim- 
aces with  a fearful  exactness.  The  figure-head  had  not  yet 
disappeared,  but  remained  in  its  old  place.  The  face,  horribly 
seared  by  the  frequent  application  of  the  red-hot  poker,  and 
further  ornamented  by  the  insertion,  in  the  tip  of  the  nose,  of 
a tenpenny  nail,  yet  smiled  blandly  in  its  less  lacerated  parts, 
and  seemed,  like  a sturdy  martyr,  to  provoke  its  tormentor  to 
the  commission  of  new  outrages  and  insults. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


101 


The  day,  in  the  highest  and  brightest  quarters  of  the  town, 
was  damp,  dark,  cold,  and  gloomy.  In  that  low  and  marshy 
spot,  the  fog  filled  every  nook  and  corner  with  a thick,  dense 
cloud.  Every  object  was  obscured  at  one  or  two  yards’  dis- 
tance. The  warning  lights  and  fires  upon  the  river  were 
powerless  beneath  this  pall,  and,  but  for  a raw  and  piercing 
chillness  in  the  air,  and  now  and  then  the  cry  of  some  bewil- 
dered boatman  as  he  rested  on  his  oars  and  tried  to  make  out 
where  he  was,  the  river  itself  might  have  been  miles  away. 

The  mist,  though  sluggish  and  slow  to  move,  was  of  a keenly 
searching  kind.  No  muffling  up  in  furs  and  broadcloth  kept 
it  out.  It  seemed  to  penetrate  into  the  very  bones  of  the 
shrinking  wayfarers,  and  to  rack  them  with  cold  and  pains. 
Everything  was  wet,  and  clammy  to  the  touch.  The  warm 
blaze  alone  defied  it,  and  leaped  and  sparkled  merrily.  It  was 
a day  to  be  at  home,  crowding  about  the  fire,  telling  stories  of 
travellers  who  had  lost  their  way  in  such  weather  on  heaths 
and  moors  ; and  to  love  a warm  hearth  more  than  ever. 

The  dwarf’s  humor,  as  we  know,  was  to  have  a fireside  to 
himself ; and  when  he  was  disposed  to  be  convivial,  to  enjoy 
himself  alone.  By  no  means  insensible  to  the  comfort  of 
being  within  doors,  he  ordered  Tom  Scott  to  pile  the  little 
stove  with  coals,  and,  dismissing  his  work  for  that  day,  de- 
termined to  be  jovial. 

To  this  end,  he  lighted  up  fresh  candles  and  heaped  more 
fuel  on  the  fire ; and  having  dined  off  a beefsteak,  which  he 
cooked  himself  in  somewhat  of  a savage  and  cannibal-like 
manner,  brewed  a great  bowl  of  hot  punch,  lighted  his  pipe, 
and  sat  down  to  spend  the  evening. 

At  this  moment,  a low  knocking  at  the  cabin-door  arrested 
his  attention.  When  it  had  been  twice  or  thrice  repeated,  he 
softly  opened  the  little  window,  and  thrusting  his  head  out, 
demanded  who  was  there. 

“ Only  me,  Quilp,”  replied  a woman’s  voice. 

“Only  you!”  cried  the  dwarf,  stretching  his  neck  to  obtain 
a better  view  of  his  visitor.  “ And  what  brings  you  here,  you 
jade?  How  dare  you  approach  the  ogre’s  castle,  eh  ? ” 

“I  have  come  with  some  news,”  rejoined  his  spouse.  “Don’t 
be  angry  with  me.” 


102 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


66  Is  it  good  news,  pleasant  news,  news  to  make  a man  skip 
and  snap  his  fingers  ? ” said  the  dwarf.  “ Is  the  dear  old 
lady  dead  ? ” 

“I  don’t  know  what  news  it  is,  or  whether  it’s  good  or  had,” 
rejoined  his  wife. 

“Then  she’s  alive,”  said  Quilp,  “and  there’s  nothing  the 
matter  with  her.  Go  home  again,  you  bird  of  evil  note,  go 
home ! ” 

“ I have  brought  a letter,”  cried  the  meek  little  woman. 
“Toss  it  in  at  the  window  here,  and  go  your  ways,”  said 
Quilp,  interrupting  her,  “or  I’ll  come  out  and  scratch  you.” 
“No,  but  please,  Quilp  — do  hear  me  speak,”  urged  his  sub- 
missive wife,  in  tears.  “ Please  do  ! ” 

“ Speak  then,”  growled  the  dwarf,  with  a malicious  grin. 
“ Be  quick  and  short  about  it.  Speak,  will  you  ? ” 

“ It  was  left  at  our  house  this  afternoon,”  said  Mrs.  Quilp, 
trembling,  “ by  a boy  who  said  he  didn’t  know  from  whom  it 
came,  but  that  it  was  given  to  him  to  leave,  and  that  he  was 
told  to  say  it  must  be  brought  on  to  you  directly,  for  it  was  of 
the  very  greatest  consequence. — But  please,”  she  added,  as 
her  husband  stretched  out  his  hand  for  it,  “please  let  me 
in.  You  don’t  know  how  wet  and  cold  I am,  or  how  many 
times  I have  lost  my  way  in  coming  here  through  this 
thick  fog.  Let  me  dry  myself  at  the  fire  for  five  minutes. 
I’ll  go  away  directly  you  tell  me  to,  Quilp.  Upon  my  word 
I will.” 

Her  amiable  husband  hesitated  for  a few  moments ; but, 
bethinking  himself  that  the  letter  might  require  some  answer, 
of  which  she  could  be  the  bearer,  closed  the  window,  opened 
the  door,  and  bade  her  enter.  Mrs.  Quilp  obeyed  right 
willingly,  and,  kneeling  down  before  the  fire  to  warm  her 
hands,  delivered  into  his,  a little  packet. 

“ I’m  glad  you’re  wet,”  said  Quilp,  snatching  it,  and  squint- 
ing at  her.  “ I’m  glad  your  cold.  I’m  glad  you’ve  lost  your 
way.  I’m  glad  your  eyes  are  red  with  crying.  It  does  my 
heart  good  to  see  your  little  nose  so  pinched  and  frosty.” 

“Oh  Quilp  ! ” sobbed  his  wife.  “How  cruel  it  is  of  you  ! ” 
“Did  she  think  I was  dead  !”  said  Quilp,  wrinkling  his  face 
into  a most  extraordinary  series  of  grimaces.  “ Did  she  think 


THE  OLD  CUEIOSITV  SHOP . 


103 


she  was  going  to  have  all  the  money,  and  to  marry  somebody 
she  liked  ? Ha  ha  ha  ! Did  she  ? ” 

These  taunts  elicited  no  reply  from  the  poor  little  woman, 
who  remained  on  her  knees,  warming  her  hands  and  sobbing, 
to  Mr.  Quilp’s  great  delight.  But,  just  as  he  was  contemplat- 
ing her,  and  chuckling  excessively,  he  happened  to  observe 
that  Tom  Scott  was  delighted  too ; wherefore,  that  he  might 
have  no  presumptuous  partner  in  his  glee,  the  dwarf  instantly 
collared  him,  dragged  him  to  the  door,  and  after  a short  scuffle, 
kicked  him  into  the  yard.  In  return  for  this  mark  of  attention, 
Tom  immediately  walked  upon  his  hands  to  the  window,  and 
— if  the  expression  be  allowable  — looked  in  with  his  shoes  : 
besides  rattling  his  feet  upon  the  glass  like  a Banshee  upside 
down.  As  a matter  of  course,  Mr.  Quilp  lost  no  time  in  resort- 
ing to  the  infallible  poker,  with  which,  after  some  dodging  and 
lying  in  ambush,  he  paid  his  young  friend  one  or  two  such 
unequivocal  compliments  that  he  vanished  precipitately,  and 
left  him  in  quiet  possession  of  the  field. 

“So!  That  little  job  being  disposed  of,”  said  the  dwarf, 
coolly,  “ I’ll  read  my  letter.  Humph  ! ” he  muttered,  looking 
at  the  direction.  “ I ought  to  know  this  writing.  Beautiful 
Sally ! ” 

Opening  it,  he  read,  in  a fair,  round,  legal  hand,  as  follows  : 
“ Sammy  has  been  practised  upon,  and  has  broken  confidence. 
It  has  all  come  out.  You  had  better  not  be  in  the  way,  for 
strangers  are  going  to  call  upon  you.  They  have  been  very 
quiet  as  yet,  because  they  mean  to  surprise  you.  Don’t  lose 
time.  I didn’t.  I am  not  to  be  found  anywhere.  If  I was 
you,  I wouldn’t  be,  either.  S.  B.,  late  of  B.  M.” 

To  describe  the  changes  that  passed  over  Quilp’s  face,  as  he 
read  this  letter  half  a dozen  times,  would  require  some  new 
language : such,  for  power  of  expression,  as  was  never  written, 
read,  or  spoken.  For  a long  time  he  did  not  utter  one  word : 
but,  after  a considerable  interval,  during  which  Mrs.  Quilp  was 
almost  paralyzed  with  the  alarm  his  looks  engendered,  he  con- 
trived to  gasp  out, 

“ — If  I had  him  here.  If  I only  had  him  here  — ” 

“ Oh  Quilp  ! ” said  his  wife,  “what’s  the  matter  ? Who  are 
you  angry  with  ? ” 


104 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


“ I should  drown  him,”  said  the  dwarf,  not  heeding  her. 
“ Too  easy  a death,  too  short,  too  quick  — but  the  river  runs 
close  at  hand.  Oh ! If  I had  him  here ! Just  to  take  him 
to  the  brink,  coaxingly  and  pleasantly,  — holding  him  by  the 
button-hole  — joking  with  him,  — and,  with  a sudden  push,  to 
send  him  splashing  down  ! Drowning  men  come  to  the  surface 
three  times  they  say.  Ah ! To  see  him  those  three  times, 
and  mock  him  as  his  face  came  bobbing  up,  — oh,  what  a rich 
treat  that  would  be  ! ” 

“ Quilp ! ” stammered  his  wife,  venturing  at  the  same  time 
to  touch  him  on  the  shoulder ; “ what  has  gone  wrong  ? ” 

She  was  so  terrified  by  the  relish  with  which  he  pictured 
this  pleasure  to  himself,  that  she  could  scarcely  make  herself 
intelligible. 

“ Such  a bloodless  cur  ! ” said  Quilp,  rubbing  his  hands  very 
slowly,  and  pressing  them  tight  together.  “ I thought  his 
cowardice  and  servility  were  the  best  guarantee  for  his  keep- 
ing silence.  Oh  Brass,  Brass — my  dear,  good,  affectionate, 
faithful,  complimentary,  charming  friend  — if  I only  had  you 
here ! ” 

His  wife,  who  had  retreated  lest  she  should  seem  to  listen  to 
these  mutterings,  ventured  to  approach  him  again,  and  was 
about  to  speak,  when  he  hurried  to  the  door  and  called  Tom 
Scott,  who,  remembering  his  late  gentle  admonition,  deemed 
it  prudent  to  appear  immediately. 

“ There  ! ” said  the  dwarf,  pulling  him  in.  “ Take  her  home. 
Don’t  come  here  to-morrow,  for  this  place  will  be  shut  up. 
Come  back  no  more  till  you  hear  from  me  or  see  me.  Do  you 
mind  ? ” 

Tom  nodded  sulkily,  and  beckoned  Mrs.  Quilp  to  lead  the 
way. 

“As  for  you,”  said  the  dwarf,  addressing  himself  to  her, 
“ ask  no  questions  about  me,  make  no  search  for  me,  say  noth- 
ing concerning  me.  I shall  not  be  dead,  mistress,  and  that’ll 
comfort  you.  He’ll  take  care  of  you.” 

“ But,  Quilp  ? What  is  the  matter  ? Where  are  you  going  ? 
Do  say  something  more.” 

“ I’ll  say  that,”  said  the  dwarf,  seizing  her  by  the  arm,  “ and 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


105  * 


do  that  too,  which  undone  and  unsaid  would  be  best  for  you, 
unless  you  go  directly.” 

“ Has  anything  happened  ? ” cried  his  wife.  “ Oh  ! Do  tell 
me  that.” 

“Yes,”  snarled  the  dwarf.  “No.  What  matter  which? 
I have  told  you  what  to  do.  Woe  betide  you  if  you  fail  to  do 
it,  or  disobey  me  by  a hair’s  breadth.  Will  you  go  ! ” 

“ I am  going,  I’ll  go  directly ; but,”  faltered  his  wife, 
“ answer  me  one  question  first.  Has  this  letter  any  connection 
with  dear  little  Nell  ? I must  ask  you  that  — I must  indeed, 
Quilp.  You  cannot  think  what  days  and  nights  of  sorrow  I 
have  had  through  having  once  deceived  that  child.  I don’t 
know  what  harm  I may  have  brought  about,  but,  great  or 
little,  I did  it  for  you,  Quilp.  My  conscience  misgave  me 
when  I did  it.  Do  answer  me  this  question,  if  you  please.” 

The  exasperated  dwarf  returned  no  answer,  but  turned 
round  and  caught  up  his  usual  weapon  with  such  vehemence, 
that  Tom  Scott  dragged  his  charge  away,  by  main  force,  and 
as  swiftly  as  he  could.  It  was  well  he  did  so,  for  Quilp,  who 
was  nearly  mad  with  rage,  pursued  them  to  the  neighboring 
lane,  and  might  have  prolonged  the  chase  but  for  the  dense 
mist  which  obscured  them  from  his  view,  and  appeared  to 
thicken  every  moment. 

“It  will  be  a good  night  for  travelling  anonymously,”  he 
said,  as  he  returned  slowly,  being  pretty  well  breathed  with 
his  run.  “Stay.  We  may  look  better  here.  This  is  too 
hospitable  and  free.” 

By  a great  exertion  of  strength  he  closed  the  two  old  gates, 
which  were  deeply  sunken  in  the  mud,  and  barred  them  with 
a heavy  beam.  That  done,  he  shook  his  matted  hair  from 
about  his  eyes,  and  tried  them.  — Strong  and  fast. 

“The  fence  between  this  wharf  and  the  next  is  easily 
climbed,”  said  the  dwarf,  when  he  had  taken  these  precau- 
tions. “ There’s  a back  lane,  too,  from  there.  That  shall  be 
my  way  out.  A man  need  know  his  road  well,  to  find  it  in 
this  lovely  place  to-night.  I need  fear  no  unwelcome  visitors 
while  this  lasts,  I think.” 

Almost  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  groping  his  way  with 
his  hands  (it  had  grown  so  dark  and  the  fog  had  so  much 


• 106 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


increased),  he  returned  to  his  lair;  and,  after  musing  for  some 
time  over  the  fire,  busied  himself  in  preparations  for  a speedy 
departure. 

While  he  was  collecting  a few  necessaries  and  cramming 
them  into  his  pockets,  he  never  once  ceased  communing  with 
himself  in  a low  voice,  or  unclenched  his  teeth ; which  he  had 
ground  together  on  finishing  Miss  Brass’s  note. 

“ Oh  Sampson ! ” he  muttered,  “ good,  worthy  creature  — if 
I could  but  hug  you ! If  I could  only  fold  you  in  my  arms, 
and  squeeze  your  ribs,  as  I could  squeeze  them  if  I once  had 
you  tight  — what  a meeting  there  would  be  between  us  ! If 
we  ever  do  cross  each  other  again,  Sampson,  we’ll  have  a 
greeting  not  easily  to  be  forgotten,  trust  me.  This  time, 
Sampson,  this  moment  when  all  had  gone  on  so  well,  was  so 
nicely  chosen ! It  was  so  thoughtful  of  yQU,  so  penitent,  so 
good.  Oh,  if  we  were  face  to  face  in  this  room  again,  my 
white-livered  man  of  law,  how  well  contented  one  of  us  would 
be ! ” 

There  he  stopped ; and  raising  the  bowl  of  punch  to  his  lips, 
drank  a long,  deep  draught,  as  if  it  were  fair  water  and  cooling 
to  his  parched  mouth.  Setting  it  down  abruptly,  and  resum- 
ing his  preparations,  he  went  on  with  his  soliloquy : 

“There’s  Sally,”  he  said,  with  flashing  eyes;  “the  woman 
has  spirit,  determination,  purpose  — was  she  asleep,  or  petri- 
fied ? She  could  have  stabbed  him  — poisoned  him  safely. 
She  might  have  seen  this  coming  on.  Why  does  she  give 
me  notice  when  it’s  too  late  ? When  he  sat  there,  — yonder 
there,  over  there,  — with  his  white  face,  and  red  head,  and 
sickly  smile,  why  didn’t  I know  what  was  passing  in  his 
heart  ? It  should  have  stopped  beating,  that  night,  if  I had 
been  in  his  secret,  or  there  are  no  drugs  to  lull  a man  to  sleep, 
and  no  fire  to  burn  him ! ” 

Another  draught  from  the  bowl ; and,  cowering  over  the  fire 
with  a ferocious  aspect,  he  muttered  to  himself  again. 

“ And  this,  like  every  other  trouble  and  anxiety  I have  had 
of  late  times,  springs  from  that  old  dotard  and  his  darling 
child  — two  wretched,  feeble  wanderers ! I’ll  be  their  evil 
genius  yet.  And  you,  sweet  Kit,  honest  Kit,  virtuous,  inno- 
cent Kit,  look  to  yourself.  Where  I hate,  I bite.  I hate  you, 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


107 


my  darling  fellow,  with  good  cause,  and  proud  as  you  are 
to-night,  I’ll  have  my  turn.  — What’s  that ! ” 

A knocking  at  the  gate  he  had  closed.  A loud  and  violent 
knocking.  Then,  a pause;  as  if  those  who  knocked,  had 
stopped  to  listen.  Then,  the  noise  again,  more  clamorous  and 
importunate  than  before. 

“ So  soon ! ” said  the  dwarf.  “ And  so  eager  ! I am  afraid 
I shall  disappoint  you.  It’s  well  I’m  quite  prepared.  Sally, 
I thank  you  ! ” 

As  he  spoke,  he  extinguished  the  candle.  In  his  impetuous 
attempts  to  subdue  the  brightness  of  the  fire,  he  overset  the 
stove,  which  came  tumbling  forward,  and  fell  with  a crash 
upon  the  burning  embers  it  had  shot  forth  in  its  descent, 
leaving  the  room  in  pitchy  darkness.  The  noise  at  the  gate 
still  continuing,  he  felt  his  way  to  the  door,  and  stepped  into 
the  open  air. 

At  that  moment  the  knocking  ceased.  It  was  about  eight 
o’clock ; but  the  dead  of  the  darkest  night  would  have  been 
as  noon-day  in  comparison  with  tfie  thick  cloud  which  then 
rested  upon  the  earth,  and  shrouded  everything  from  view. 
He  darted  forward  for  a few  paces,  as  if  into  the  mouth  of 
some  dim,  yawning  cavern ; then,  thinking  he  had  gone  wrong, 
changed  the  direction  of  his  steps ; then,  stood  still,  not  know- 
ing where  to  turn. 

“If  they  would  knock  again,”  said  Quilp,  trying  to  peer 
into  the  gloom  by  which  he  was  surrounded,  “the  sound 
might  guide  me  ! Come  ! batter  the  gate  once  more  ! ” 

He  stood  listening  intently,  but  the  noise  was  not  renewed. 
Nothing  was  to  be  heard  in  that  deserted  place,  but,  at  inter- 
vals, the  distant  barkings  of  dogs.  The  sound  was  far  away 
— now  in  one  quarter,  now  answered  in  another  — nor  was  it 
any  guide,  for  it  often  came  from  shipboard,  as  he  knew. 

“ If  I could  find  a wall  or  fence,”  said  the  dwarf,  stretching 
out  his  arms,  and  walking  slowly  on,  “I  should  know  which 
way  to  turn.  A good,  black,  devil’ s#  night  this,  to  have  my 
dear  friend  here  ! If  I had  but  that  wish,  it  might,  for  any- 
thing I cared,  never  be  day  again.” 

As  the  word  passed  his  lips,  he  staggered  and  fell  — and 
next  moment  was  fighting  with  the  cold,  dark  water  ! 


108 


THE  OLE  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


For  all  its  bubbling  up  and  rushing  in  his  ears,  he  could 
hear  the  knocking  at  the  gate  again  — could  hear  a shout  that 
followed  it  — could  recognize  the  voice.  For  all  his  struggling 
and  plashing,  he  could  understand  that  they  had  lost  their 
way,  and  had  wandered  back  to  the  point  from  which  they 
started;  that  they  were  all  but  looking  on,  while  he  was 
drowned;  that  they  were  close  at  hand,  but  could  not  make 
an  effort  to  save  him ; that  he  himself  had  shut  and  barred 
them  out.  He  answered  the  shout  — with  a yell,  which  seemed 
to  make  the  hundred  fires  that  danced  before  his  eyes,  tremble 
and  flicker  as  if  a gush  of  wind  had  stirred  them.  It  was  of 
no  avail.  The  strong  tide  filled  his  throat,  and  bore  him  on, 
upon  its  rapid  current. 

Another  mortal  struggle,  and  he  was  up  again,  beating  die 
water  with  his  hands,  and  looking  out,  with  wild  and  glaring 
eyes  that  showed  him  some  black  object  he  was  drifting  close 
upon.  The  hull  of  a ship ! He  could  touch  its  smooth  and 
slippery  surface  with  his  hand.  One  loud  cry  now  — but  the 
resistless  water  bore  him  down  before  he  could  give  it  utter- 
ance, and,  driving  him  under,  it  carried  away  a corpse. 

It  toyed  and  sported  with  its  ghastly  freight,  now  bruising 
it  against  the  slimy  piles,  now  hiding  it  in  mud  or  long  rank 
grass,  now  dragging  it  heavily  over  rough  stones  and  gravel, 
now  feigning  to  yield  it  to  its  own  element,  and  in  the  same 
action  luring  it  away,  until,  tired  of  hhe  ugly  plaything,  it 
flung  it  on  a swamp — a dismal  place  where  pirates  had  swung 
in  chains,  through  many  a wintry  night  — and  left  it  there  to 
bleach. 

And  there  it  lay,  alone.  The  sky  was  red  with  flame,  and 
the  water  that  bore  it  theie  had  been  tinged  with  the  sullen 
light  as  it  flowed  along.  The  place,  the  deserted  carcass  had 
left  so  recently,  a living  man,  was  now  a blazing  ruin.  There 
was  something  of  the  glare  upon  its  face.  The  hair,  stirred 
by  the  damp  breeze,  played  in  a kind  of  mockery  of  death  — 
such  a mockery  as  the  dead  man  himself  would  have  delighted 
in  when  alive  — about  its  head,  and  its  dress  fluttered  idly  in 
the  night  wind. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


109 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Lighted  rooms,  bright  fires,  cheerful  faces,  the  music  of 
glad  voices,  words  of  love  and  welcome,  warm  hearts,  and 
tears  of  happiness  — what  a change  is  this ! But  it  is  to  such 
delights  that  Kit  is  hastening.  They  are  awaiting  him,  he 
knows.  He  fears  he  will  die  of  joy,  before  he  gets  among 
them. 

They  have  prepared  him  for  this,  all  day.  He  is  not  to  be 
carried  off  to-morrow  with  the  rest,  they  tell  him  first.  By 
degrees  they  let  him  know  that  doubts  have  arisen,  that 
inquiries  are  to  be  made,  and  perhaps  he  may  be  pardoned 
after  all.  At  last,  the  evening  being  come,  they  bring  him  to 
a room  where  some  gentlemen  are  assembled.  Foremost  among 
them  is  his  good  old  master,  who  comes  and  takes  him  by  the 
hand.  He  hears  that  his  innocence  is  established,  and  that 
he  is  pardoned.  He  cannot  see  the  speaker,  but  he  turns 
towards  the  voice,  and  in  trying  to  answer,  falls  down  in- 
sensible. 

They  recover  him  again,  and  tell  him  he  must  be  composed, 
and  bear  this  like  a man.  Somebody  says  he  must  think  of 
his  poor  mother.  It  is  because  he  does  think  of  her  so  much, 
that  the  happy  news  has  overpowered  him.  They  crowd  about 
him,  and  tell  him  that  the  truth  has  gone  abroad,  and  that  all 
the  town  and  country  ring  with  sympathy  for  his  misfortunes. 
He  has  no  ears  for  this.  His  thoughts,  as  yet,  have  no  wider 
range  than  home.  Hoes  she  know  it  ? what  did  she  say  ? who 
told  her  ? He  can  speak  of  nothing  else. 

They  make  him  drink  a little  wine,  and  talk  kindly  to  him 
for  a while,  until  he  is  more  collected,  and  can  listen,  and 
thank  them.  He  is  free  to  go.  Mr.  Garland  thinks,  if  he 
feels  better,  it  is  time  they  went  away.  The  gentlemen  cluster 
round  him,  and  shake  hands  with  him.  He  feels  very  grate- 


110 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


ful  to  them  for  the  interest  they  have  in  him,  and  for  the  kind 
promises  they  make ; but  the  power  of  speech  is  gone  again, 
and  he  has  much  ado  to  keep  his  feet,  even  though  leaning  on 
his  master’s  arm. 

As  they  come  through  the  dismal  passages,  some  officers  of 
the  jail  who  are  in  waiting  there,  congratulate  him,  in  their 
rough  way,  on  his  release.  The  newsmonger  is  of  the  number, 
but  his  manner  is  not  quite  hearty  — there  is  something  of 
surliness  in  his  compliments.  He  looks  upon -Kit  as  an 
intruder,  as  one  who  has  obtained  admission  to  that  place  on 
false  pretences,  who  has  enjoyed  a privilege  without  being 
duly  qualified.  He  may  be  a very  good  sort  of  young  man, 
he  thinks,  but  he  has  no  business  there,  and  the  sooner  he  is 
gone  the  better. 

The  last  door  shuts  behind  them.  They  have  passed  the 
outer  wall,  and  stand  in  the  open  air  — in  the  street  he  has 
so  often  pictured  to  himself  when  hemmed  in  by  the  gloomy 
stones,  and  which  has  been  in  all  his  dreams.  It  seems  wider 
and  more  busy  than  it  used  to  be.  The  night  is  bad,  and  yet 
how  cheerful  and  gay  in  his  eyes  ! One  of  the  gentlemen,  in 
taking  leave  of  him,  pressed  some  money  into  his  hand.  He 
has  not  counted  it ; but  when  they  have  gone  a few  paces 
beyond  the  box  for  poor  Prisoners,  he  hastily  returns  and 
drops  it  in. 

Mr.  Garland  has  a coach  waiting  in  a neighboring  street, 
and,  taking  Kit  inside  with  him,  bids  the  man  drive  home. 
At  first,  they  can  only  travel  at  a foot  pace,  and  then  with 
torches  going  on  before,  because  of  the  heavy  fog.  But,  as 
they  get  farther  from  the  river,  and  leave  the  closer  portions 
of  the  town  behind,  they  are  able  to  dispense  with  this  pre- 
caution and  to  proceed  at  a brisker  rate.  On  the  road,  hard 
galloping  would  be  too  slow  for  Kit ; but,  when  they  are 
drawing  near  their  journey’s  end,  he  begs  they  may  go  more 
slowly,  and,  when  the  house  appears  in  sight,  that  they 
may  stop  — only  for  a minute  or  two,  to  give  him  time  to 
breathe. 

But  there  is  no  stopping  then,  for  the  old  gentleman  speaks 
stoutly  to  him,  the  horses  mend  their  pace,  and  they  are 
already  at  the  garden-gate.  Next  minute,  they  are  at  the 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


Ill 


door.  There  is  a noise  of  tongues,  and  tread  of  feet,  inside. 
It  opens.  Kit  rushes  in,  and  finds  his  mother  clinging  round 
his  neck. 

And  there,  too,  is  the  ever  faithful  Barbara’s  mother,  still 
holding  the  baby  as  if  she  had  never  put  it  down  since  that 
sad  day  when  they  little  hoped  to  have  such  joy  as  this  — there 
she  is,  Heaven  bless  her,  crying  her  eyes  out,  and  sobbing  as 
never  woman  sobbed  before ; and  there  is  little  Barbara  — 
poor  little  Barbara,  so  much  thinner  and  so  much  paler,  and 
yet  so  very  pretty — trembling  like  a leaf  and  supporting  her- 
self against  the  wall ; and  there  is  Mrs.  Garland,  neater  and 
nicer  than  ever,  fainting  away  stone  dead  with  nobody  to  help 
her;  and  there  is  Mr.  Abel,  violently  blowing  his  nose,  and 
wanting  to  embrace  everybody ; and  there  is  the  single  gentle- 
man hovering  round  them  all,  and  constant  to  nothing  for  an 
instant;  and  there  is  that  good,  dear,  thoughtful  little  Jacob, 
sitting  all  alone  by  himself  on  the  bottom  stair,  with  his  hands 
on  his  knees  like  an  old  man,  roaring  fearfully  without  giving 
any  trouble  to  anybody ; and  each  and  all  of  them  are  for  the 
time  clean  out  of  their  wits,  and  do  jointly  and  severally 
commit  all  manner  of  follies. 

And  even  when  the  rest  have  in  some  measure  come  to 
themselves  again,  and  can  find  words  and  smiles,  Barbara  — 
that  soft-hearted,  gentle,  foolish  little  Barbara  — is  suddenly 
missed,  and  found  to  be  in  a swoon  by  herself  in  the  back 
parlor,  from  which  swoon  she  falls  into  hysterics,  and  from 
which  hysterics  into  a swoon  again,  and  is,  indeed,  so  bad, 
that  despite  a mortal  quantity  of  vinegar  and  cold  water  she 
is  hardly  a bit  better  at  last  than  she  was  at  first.  Then, 
Kit’s  mother  comes  in  and  says,  will  he  come  and  speak  to 
her ; and  Kit  says  “ Yes,”  and  goes ; and  he  says  in  a kind 
voice  “ Barbara ! ” and  Barbara’s  mother  tells  her  that  “ it’s 
only  Kit;”  and  Barbara  says  (with  her  eyes  closed  all  the 
time)  u Oh ! but  is  it  him  indeed  ? ” and  Barbara’s  mother 
says  “ To  be  sure  it  is,  my  dear ; there’s  nothing  the  matter 
now.”  And  in  further  assurance  that  he’s  safe  and  sound, 
Kit  speaks  to  her  again;  and  then  Barbara  goes  off  into 
another  fit  of  laughter,  and  then  into  another  fit  of  crying ; 
and  then  Barbara’s  mother  and  Kit’s  mother  nod  to  each  other 


112 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


and  pretend  to  scold  her  — but  only  to  bring  her  to  herself 
the  faster,  bless  you! — and  being  experienced  matrons,  and 
acute  at  perceiving  the  first  dawning  symptoms  of  recovery, 
they  comfort  Kit  with  the  assurance  that  “ she’ll  do  now,”  and 
so  dismiss  him  to  the  place  from  whence  he  came. 

Well ! In  that  place  (which  is  the  next  room)  there  are 
decanters  of  wine,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  set  out  as  grand 
as  if  Kit  and  his  friends  were  first  rate  company ; and  there 
is  little  Jacob,  walking,  as  the  popular  phrase  is,  into  a home- 
made plum-cake,  at  a most  surprising  pace,  and  keeping  his 
eye  on  the  figs  and  oranges  which  are  to  follow,  and  making 
the  best  use  of  his  time,  you  may  believe.  Kit  no  sooner 
comes  in,  than  that  single  gentleman  (never  was  such  a busy 
gentleman)  charges  all  the  glasses  — bumpers  — and  drinks 
his  health,  and  tells  him  he  shall  never  want  a friend  while  he 
lives ; and  so  does  Mr.  Garland,  and  so  does  Mrs.  Garland,  and 
so  does  Mr.  Abel.  But,  even  this  honor  and  distinction  is  not 
all,  for  the  single  gentleman  forthwith  pulls  out  of  his  pocket, 
a massive  silver  watch  — going  hard,  and  right  to  half  a second 
— and  upon  the  back  of  this  watch  is  engraved  Kit’s  name, 
with  flourishes  all  over ; and  in  short  it  is  Kit’s  watch,  bought 
expressly  for  him,  and  presented  to  him  on  the  spot.  You 
may  rest  assured  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Garland  can’t  help  hinting 
about  their  present  in  store,  and  that  Mr.  Abel  tells  outright 
that  he  has  his ; and  that  Kit  is  the  happiest  of  the  happy. 

There  is  one  friend  he  has  not  seen  yet,  and  as  he  cannot  be 
conveniently  introduced  into  the  family  circle,  by  reason  of 
his  being  an  iron-shod  quadruped,  Kit  takes  the  first  opportu- 
nity of  slipping  away  and  hurrying  to  the  stable.  The  moment 
he  lays  his  hand  upon  the  latch,  the  pony  neighs  the  loudest 
pony’s  greeting ; before  he  has  crossed  the  threshold,  the  pony 
is  capering  about  his  loose  box  (for  he  brooks  not  the  indignity 
of  a halter),  mad  to  give  him  welcome ; and  when  Kit  goes  up 
to  caress  and  pat  him,  the  pony  rubs  his  nose  against  his  coat, 
and  fondles  him  more  lovingly  than  ever  pony  fondled  man. 
It  is  the  crowning  circumstance  of  his  earnest,  heartfelt  recep- 
tion ; and  Kit  fairly  puts  his  arm  round  Whisker’s  neck  and 
hugs  him. 

But  how  comes  Barbara  to  trip  in  there  ? and  how  smart 


WHISKER  AND  BARBARA. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


113 


she  is  again ! she  has  been  at  her  glass  since  she  recovered. 
How  comes  Barbara  in  the  stable,  of  all  places  in  the  world  ? 
Why,  since  Kit  has  been  away,  the  pony  would  take  his  food 
from  nobody  but  her,  and  Barbara,  you  see,  not  dreaming 
Christopher  was  there,  and  just  looking  in,  to  see  that  every- 
thing was  right,  has  come  upon  him  unawares.  Blushing  little 
Barbara ! 

It  may  be  that  Kit  has  caressed  the  pony  enough ; it  may 
be  that  there  are  even  better  things  to  caress  than  ponies. 
He  leaves  him  for  Barbara  at  any  rate,  and  hopes  she  is 
better.  Yes.  Barbara  is  a great  deal  better.  She  is  afraid 
— and  here  Barbara  looks  down  and  blushes  more  — that  he 
must  have  thought  her  very  foolish.  “Not  at  all,”  says  Kit. 
Barbara  is  glad  of  that,  and  coughs  — Hem  ! — just  the 
slightest  cough  possible  — not  more  than  that. 

What  a discreet  pony,  when  he  chooses  ! He  is  as  quiet 
now,  as  if  he  were  of  marble.  He  has  a very  knowing  look, 
but  that  he  always  has.  “We  have  hardly  had  time  to  shake 
hands,  Barbara,”  says  Kit.  Barbara  gives  him  hers.  Why, 
she  is  trembling  now  ! Foolish,  fluttering  Barbara  ! 

Arm’s  length  ? The  length  of  an  arm  is  not  much. 
Barbara’s  was  not  a long  arm,  by  any  means,  and  besides,  she 
didn’t  hold  it  out  straight,  but  bent  a little.  Kit  was  so  near 
her  when  they  shook  hands,  that  he  could  see  a small  tiny 
tear,  yet  trembling  on  an  eyelash.  It  was  natural  that  he 
should  look  at  it,  unknown  to  Barbara.  It  was  natural  that 
Barbara  should  raise  her  eyes  unconsciously,  and  find  him 
out.  Was  it  natural  that  at  that  instant,  without  any 
previous  impulse  or  design,  Kit  should  kiss  Barbara?  He 
did  it,  whether  or  no.  Barbara  said  “ for  shame,”  but  let  him 
do  it  too  — twice.  He  might  have  done  it  thrice,  but  the 
pony  kicked  up  his  heels  and  shook  his  head,  as  if  he  were 
suddenly  taken  with  convulsions  of  delight,  and  Barbara  being 
frightened,  ran  away  — not  straight  to  where  her  mother  and 
Kit’s  mother  were,  though,  lest  they  should  see  how  red  her 
cheeks  were,  and  should  ask  her  why.  Sly  little  Barbara ! 

When  the  first  transports  of  the  whole  party  had  subsided, 
and  Kit  and  his  mother,  and  Barbara  and  her  mother,  with 
little  Jacob  and  the  baby  to  boot,  had  had  their  suppers 

VOL.  II — 8 


114 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


together  — which  there  was  no  hurrying  over,  for  they  were 
going  to  stop  there  all  night  — Mr.  Garland  called  Kit  to  him, 
and  taking  him  into  a room  where  they  could  be  alone,  told^ 
him  that  he  had  something  yet  to  say,  which  would  surprise 
him  greatly.  Kit  looked  so  anxious  and  turned  so  pale  on 
hearing  this,  that  the  old  gentleman  hastened  to  add,  he  would 
be  agreeably  surprised ; and  asked  him  if  he  would  be  ready 
next  morning  for  a journey. 

“ For  a journey,  sir  ! ” cried  Kit. 

“ In  company  with  me  and  my  friend  in  the  next  room. 
Can  you  guess  its  purpose  ? ” 

Kit  turned  paler  yet,  and  shook  his  head. 

“ Oh  yes.  I think  you  do  already,”  said  his  master. 
“ Try.” 

Kit  murmured  something  rather  rambling  and  unintelligible, 
but  he  plainly  pronounced  the  words  “ Miss  Kell,”  three  or 
four  times  — shaking  his  head  while  he  did  so,  as  if  he  would 
add  that  there  was  no  hope  of  that. 

But  Mr.  Garland,  instead  of  saying  “Try  again,”  as  Kit 
had  made  sure  he  would,  told  him,  very  seriously,  that  he  had 
guessed  right. 

“ The  place  of  their  retreat  is  indeed  discovered,”  he  said, 
“at  last.  And  that  is  our  journey’s  end.” 

Kit  faltered  out  such  questions  as,  where  was  it,  and  how 
had  it  been  found,  and  how  long  since,  and  was  she  well,  and 
happy  ? 

“ Happy  she  is,  beyond  all  doubt,”  said  Mr.  Garland. 
“ And  well,  I — I trust  she  will  be  soon.  She  has  been  weak 
and  ailing,  as  I learn,  but  she  was  better  when  I heard  this 
morning,  and  they  were  full  of  hope.  Sit  you  down,  and  you 
shall  hear  the  rest.” 

Scarcely  venturing  to  draw  his  breath,  Kit  did  as  he  was 
told.  Mr.  Garland  then  related  to  him,  how  he  had  a 
brother  (of  whom  he  would  remember  to  have  heard  him 
speak,  and  whose  picture,  taken  when  he  was  a young  man, 
hung  in  the  best  room),  and  how  this  brother  lived  a long 
way  off,  in  a country-place,  with  an  old  clergyman  who  had 
been  his  early  friend.  How,  although  they  loved  each  other 
as  brothers  should,  they  had  not  met  for  many  years,  but 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


115 


had  communicated  by  letter  from  time  to  time,  always 
looking  forward  to  some  period  when  they  would  take  each 
other  by  the  hand  once  more,  and  still  letting  the  Present 
time  steal  on,  as  it  was  the  habit  of  men  to  do,  and  suffering 
the  Future  to  melt  into  the  Past.  How  this  brother,  whose 
temper  was  very  mild  and  quiet  and  retiring — such  as  Mr. 
Abel’s  — was  greatly  beloved  by  the  simple  people  among 
whom  he  dwelt,  who  quite  revered  the  Bachelor  (for  so  they 
called  him),  and  had  every  one  experienced  his  charity  and 
benevolence.  How,  even  those  slight  circumstances  had  come 
to  his  knowledge,  very  slowly  and  in  course  of  years,  for  the 
Bachelor  was  one  of  those  whose  goodness  shuns  the  light, 
and  who  have  more  pleasure  in  discovering  and  extolling  the 
good  deeds  of  others,  than  in  trumpeting  their  own,  be  they 
never  so  commendable.  How,  for  that  reason,  he  seldom  told 
them  of  his  village  friends  ; but  how,  for  all  that,  his  mind 
had  become  so  full  of  two  among  them  — a child  and  an  old 
man,  to  whom  he  had  been  very  kind  — that,  in  a letter 
received  a few  days  before,  he  had  dwelt  upon  them  from  first 
to  last,  and  had  told  such  a tale  of  their  wandering,  and 
mutual  love,  that  few  could  read  it  without  being  moved  to 
tears.  How  he,  the  recipient  of  that  letter,  was  directly  led 
to  the  belief  that  these  must  be  the  very  wanderers  for  whom 
so  much  search  had  been  made,  and  whom  Heaven  had 
directed  to  his  brother’s  care.  How  he  had  written  for  such 
further  information  as  would  put  the  fact  beyond  all  doubt ; 
how  it  had  that  morning  arrived ; had  confirmed  his  first 
impression  into  a certainty ; and  was  the  immediate  cause 
of  that  journey  being  planned,  which  they  were  to  take  to- 
morrow. 

“ In  the  meantime,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  rising  and  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  Kit’s  shoulder,  “ you  have  great  need  of  rest ; 
for  such  a day  as  this,  would  wear  out  the  strongest  man. 
Good  night  and  Heaven  send  our  journey  may  have  a pros- 
perous ending ! ” 


116 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

Kit  was  no  sluggard  next  morning,  but,  springing  from  his 
bed  some  time  before  day,  began  to  prepare  for  his  welcome 
expedition.  The  hurry  of  spirits  consequent  upon  the  events 
of  yesterday,  and  the  unexpected  intelligence  he  had  heard  at 
night,  had  troubled  his  sleep  through  the  long  dark  hours, 
and  summoned  such  uneasy  dreams  about  his  pillow  that  it 
was  rest  to  rise. 

But  had  it  been  the  beginning  of  some  great  labor  with  the 
same  end  in  view  — had  it  been  the  commencement  of  a long 
journey,  to  be  performed  on  foot  in  that  inclement  season  of 
the  year,  to  be  pursued  under  every  privation  and  difficulty, 
and  to  be  achieved  only  with  great  distress,  fatigue,  and  suffer- 
ing — had  it  been  the  dawn  of  some  painful  enterprise,  certain 
to  task  his  utmost  powers  of  resolution  and  endurance,  and  to 
need  his  utmost  fortitude,  but  only  likely  to  end,  if  happily 
achieved,  in  good  fortune  and  delight  to  Kell  — Kit’s  cheerful 
zeal  would  have  been  as  highly  roused : Kit’s  ardor  and  im- 
patience would  have  been,  at  least,  the  same. 

Nor  was  he  alone  excited  and  eager.  Before  he  had  been 
up  a quarter  of  an  hour  the  whole  house  were  astir  and  busy. 
Everybody  hurried  to  do  something  towards  facilitating  the 
preparations.  The  single  gentleman,  it  is  true,  could  do 
nothing  himself,  but  he  overlooked  everybody  else  and  was 
more  locomotive  than  anybody.  The  work  of  packing  and 
making  ready  went  briskly  on,  and  by  daybreak  every  prep- 
aration for  the  journey  was  completed.  Then,  Kit  began  to 
wish  they  had  not  been  quite  so  nimble  ; for  the  travelling- 
carriage  which  had  been  hired  for  the  occasion  was  not  to 
arrive  until  nine  o’clock,  and  there  was  nothing  but  breakfast 
to  fill  up  the  intervening  blank  of  one  hour  and  a half. 

Yes  there  was,  though.  There  was  Barbara.  Barbara  was 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


117 


busy,  to  be  sure,  but  so  much  the  better  — Kit  could  help  her, 
and  that  would  pass  away  the  time  better  than  any  means 
that  could  be  devised.  Barbara  had  no  objection  to  this 
arrangement,  and  Kit,  tracking  out  the  idea  which  had  come 
upon  him  so  suddenly  overnight,  began  to  think  that  surely 
Barbara  was  fond  of  him,  and  surely  he  was  fond  of  Barbara. 

Now,  Barbara,  if  the  truth  must  be  told  — as  it  must  and 
ought  to  be  — Barbara  seemed,  of  all  the  little  household,  to 
take  least  pleasure  in  the  bustle  of  the  occasion ; and  when 
Kit,  in  the  openness  of  his  heart,  told  her  how  glad  and  over- 
joyed it  made  him,  Barbara  became  more  downcast  still,  and 
seemed  to  have  even  less  pleasure  in  it  than  before ! 

“ You  have  not  been  home  so  long,  Christopher,”  said  Bar- 
bara— and  it  is  impossible  to  tell  how  carelessly  she  said  it 
— “ You  have  not  been  home  so  long,  that  you  need  be  glad 
to  go  away  again,  I should  think.” 

“But  for  such  a purpose,”  returned  Kit.  “To  bring  back 
Miss  Kell ! To  see  her  again  ! Only  think  of  that ! I am 
so  pleased  too,  to  think  that  you  will  see  her,  Barbara,  at 
last.” 

Barbara  did  not  absolutely  say  that  she  felt  no  great  grati- 
fication on  fhis  point,  but  she  expressed  the  sentiment  so 
plainly  by  one  little  toss  of  her  head,  that  Kit  was  quite  dis- 
concerted, and  wondered,  in  his  simplicity,  why  she  was  so 
cool  about  it. 

“You’ll  say  she  has  the  sweetest  and  beautifullest  face  you 
ever  saw,  I know,”  said  Kit,  rubbing  his  hands.  “ I’m  sure 
you’ll  say  that ! ” 

Barbara  tossed  her  head  again. 

“ What’s  the  matter,  Barbara  ? ” said  Kit. 

“Nothing,”  cried  Barbara.  And  Barbara  pouted  — not  sulk- 
ily, or  in  an  ugly  manner,  but  just  enough  to  make  her  look 
more  cherry-lipped  than  ever. 

There  is  no  sclfool  in  which  a pupil  gets  on  so  fast,  as  that 
in  which  Kit  became  a scholar  when  he  gave  Barbara  the 
kiss.  He  saw  what  Barbara  meant  now  — he  had  his  lesson 
by  heart  all  at  once  — she  was  the  book  — there  it  was  before 
him,  as  plain  as  print. 

“ Barbara,”  said  Kit,  “ you’re  not  cross  with  me  ? ” 


118 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


Oh  dear  no  ! Why  should  Barbara  be  cross  ? And  what 
right  had  she  to  be  cross  ? And  what  did  it  matter  whether 
she  was  cross  or  no  ? Who  minded  her  ! 

“ Why,  I do,”  said  Kit.  “ Of  course  I do.” 

Barbara  didn’t  see  why  it  was  of  course,  at  all, 

Kit  was  sure  she  must.  W ould  she  think  again  ? 

Certainly,  Barbara  would  think  again.  No,  she  didn’t  see 
why  it  was  of  course.  She  didn’t  understand  what  Christopher 
meant.  And  besides  she  was  sure  they  wanted  her  up  stairs 
by  this  time,  and  she  must  go,  indeed  — 

“No,  but  Barbara,”  said  Kit,  detaining  her  gently,  “let  us 
part  friends.  I was  always  thinking  of  you,  in  my  troubles. 
I should  have  been  a great  deal  more  miserable  than  I was,  if 
it  hadn’t  been  for  you.” 

Goodness  gracious,  how  pretty  Barbara  was  when  she 
colored  — and  when  she  trembled,  like  a little  shrinking  bird  ! 

“ I am  telling  you  the  truth,  Barbara,  upon  my  word,  but 
not  half  so  strong  as  I could  wish,”  said  Kit.  “ When  I want 
you  to  be  pleased  to  see  Miss  Nell,  it’s  only  because  I should 
like  you  to  be  pleased  with  what  pleases  me  — that’s  all.  As 
to  her,  Barbara,  I think  I could  almost  die  to  do  her  service, 
but  you  would  think  so  too,  if  you  knew  her  as  I do.  I am 
sure  you  would.” 

Barbara  was  touched,  and  sorry  to  have  appeared  indifferent. 

“ I have  been  used,  you  see,”  said  Kit,  “ to  talk  and  think 
of  her,  almost  as  if  she  was  an  angel.  When  I look  forward 
to  meeting  her  again,  I think  of  her  smiling  as  she  used  to  do, 
and  being  glad  to  see  me,  and  putting  out  her  hand  and 
saying,  ‘It’s  my  own  old  Kit,’  or  some  such  words  as  those  — 
like  what  she  used  to  say.  I think  of  seeing  her  happy,  and 
with  friends  about  her,  and  brought  up  as  she  deserves,  and 
as  she  ought  to  be.  When  I think  of  myself,  it’s  as  her  old 
servant,  and  one  that  loved  her  dearly,  as  his  kind,  good, 
gentle  mistress  ; and  who  would  have  gone  — yes,  and  still 
would  go — through  any  harm  to  serve  her.  Once,  I couldn’t 
help  being  afraid  that  if  she  came  back  with  friends  about 
her  she  might  forget,  or  be  ashamed  of  having  known,  a 
humble  lad  like  me,  and  so  might  speak  coldly,  which  would 
have  cut  me,  Barbara,  deeper  than  I can  tell.  But  when  I 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


119 


came  to  think  again,  I felt  sure  that  I was  doing  her  wrong 
in  this  ; and  so  I went  on,  as  I did  at  first,  hoping  to  see  her 
once  more,  just  as  she  used  to  be.  Hoping  this,  and  remem- 
bering what  she  was,  has  made  me  feel  as  if  I would  always 
try  to  please  her,  and  always  be  what  I should  like  to  seem  to 
her  if  I was  still  her  servant.  If  I?m  the  better  for  that  — 
and  I don’t  think  I’m  the  worse  — I am  grateful  to  her  for  it, 
and  love  and  honor  her  the  more.  That’s  the  plain  honest 
truth,  dear  Barbara,  upon  my  word  it  is  ! ” 

Little  Barbara  was  not  of  a wayward  or  capricious  nature, 
and,  being  full  of  remorse,  melted  into  tears.  To  what  more 
conversation  this  might  have  led,  we  need  not  stop  to  inquire  ; 
for  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  were  heard  at  that  moment, 
and,  being  followed  by  a smart  ring  at  the  garden  gate, 
caused  the  bustle  in  the  house,  which  had  lain  dormant  for  a 
short  time,  to  burst  again  into  tenfold  life  and  vigor. 

Simultaneously  with  the  travelling  equipage,  arrived  Mr. 
Chuckster  in  a hackney  cab,  with  certain  papers  and  supplies 
of  money  for  the  single  gentleman,  into  whose  hands  he 
delivered  them.  This  duty  discharged,  he  subsided  into  the 
bosom  of  the  family ; and,  entertaining  himself  with  a stroll- 
ing or  peripatetic  breakfast,  watched  with  a genteel  indiffer- 
ence, the  process  of  loading  the  carriage. 

“ Snobby’s  in  this  I see,  sir  ? ” he  said  to  Mr.  Abel  Gar- 
land. “ I thought  he  wasn’t  in  the  last  trip  because  it  was 
expected  that  his  presence  wouldn’t  be  acceptable  to  the 
ancient  buffalo.” 

“ To  whom,  sir,”  demanded  Mr.  Abel. 

“ To  the  old  gentleman,”  returned  Mr.  Chuckster,  slightly 
abashed. 

“ Our  client  prefers  to  take  him  now,”  said  Mr.  Abel,  drily. 
“ There  is  no  longer  any  need  for  that  precaution,  as  my 
father’s  relationship  to  a gentleman  in  whom  the  objects  of 
his  search  have  full  confidence,  will  be  a sufficient  guarantee 
for  the  friendly  nature  of  their  errand.” 

“ Ah ! ” thought  Mr.  Chuckster,  looking  out  of  window, 
“ anybody  but  me  ! Snobby  before  me,  of  course.  He  didn’t 
happen  to  take  that  particular  five-pound  note,  but  I have 
not  the  smallest  doubt  that  he’s  always  up  to  something  of 


120 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


that  sort.  I always  said  it,  long  before  this  came  out. 
Devilish  pretty  girl  that ! Ton  my  soul,  an  amazing  little 
creature ! ” 

Barbara  was  the  subject  of  Mr.  Chuckster’ s commendations  ; 
and  as  she  was  lingering  near  the  carriage  (all  being  now 
ready  for  its  departure),  that  gentleman  was  suddenly  seized 
with  a strong  interest  in  the  proceedings,  which  impelled  him 
to  swagger  down  the  garden,  and  take  up  his  position  at  a 
convenient  ogling  distance.  Having  had  great  experience  of 
the  sex,  and  being  perfectly  acquainted  with  all  those  little 
artifices  which  find  the  readiest  road  to  their  hearts,  Mr. 
Chuckster,  on  taking  his  ground,  planted  one  hand  on  his 
hip,  and  with  the  other  adjusted  his  flowing  hair.  This  is  a 
favorite  attitude  in  the  polite  circles,  and,  accompanied  with 
a graceful  whistling,  has  been  known  to  do  immense  execution. 

Such,  however,  is  the  difference  between  town  and  country, 
that  nobody  took  the  smallest  notice  of  this  insinuating  figure ; 
the  wretches  being  wholly  engaged  in  bidding  the  travellers 
farewell,  in  kissing  hands  to  each  other,  waving  handkerchiefs, 
and  the  like  tame  and  vulgar  practices.  Bor,  now,  the  single 
gentleman  and  Mr.  Garland  were  in  the  carriage,  and  the  post- 
boy was  in  the  saddle,  and  Kit,  well  wrapped  and  muffled  up, 
was  in  the  rumble  behind ; and  Mrs.  Garland  was  there,  and 
Mr.  Abel  was  there,  and  Kit’s  mother  was  there,  and  little 
Jacob  was  there,  and  Barbara’s  mother  was  visible  in  remote 
perspective,  nursing  the  ever-wakeful  baby ; and  all  were 
nodding,  beckoning,  courtesying,  or  crying  out  “ Good  by  ! ” 
with  all  the  energy  they  could  express.  In  another  minute, 
the  carriage  was  out  of  sight;  and  Mr.  Chuckster  remained 
alone  on  the  spot  where  it  had  lately  been,  with  a vision  of 
Kit  standing  up  in  the  rumble  waving  his  hand  to  Barbara, 
and  of  Barbara  in  the  full  light  and  lustre  of  his  eyes  — his 
eyes  — Chuckster’s  — Chuckster  the  successful  — on  whom 
ladies  of  quality  had  looked  with  favor  from  phaetons  in  the 
parks  on  Sundays  — waving  hers  to  Kit ! 

How  Mr.  Chuckster,  entranced  by  this  monstrous  fact,  stood 
for  some  time  rooted  to  the  earth,  protesting  within  himself 
that  Kit  was  the  Prince  of  felonious  characters,  and  very 
Emperor  or  Great  Mogul  of  Snobs,  and  how  he  clearly  traced 


SETTING  OUT  ON  THE  SEARCH 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


121 


this  revolting  circumstance  back  to  that  old  villany  of  the 
shilling,  are  matters  foreign  to  our  purpose ; which  is  to  track 
the  rolling  wheels,  and  bear  the  travellers  company  on  their 
cold,  bleak  journey. 

It  was  a bitter  day.  A keen  wind  was  blowing,  and  rushed 
against  them  fiercely : bleaching  the  hard  ground,  shaking 
the  white  frost  from  the  trees  and  hedges,  and  whirling  it 
away  like  dust.  But,  little  cared  Kit  for  weather.  There 
was  a freedom  and  freshness  in  the  wind,  as  it  came  howling 
by,  which,  let  it  cut  never  so  sharp,  was  welcome.  As  it 
swept  on  with  its  cloud  of  frost,  bearing  down  the  dry  twigs 
and  boughs  and  withered  leaves,  and  carrying  them  away 
pell-mell,  it  seemed  as  though  some  general  sympathy  had  got 
abroad,  and  everything  was  in  a hurry,  like  themselves.  The 
harder  the  gusts,  the  better  progress  they  appeared,  to  make. 
It  was  a good  thing  to  go  struggling  and  lighting  forward, 
vanquishing  them  one  by  one ; to  watch  them  driving  up, 
gathering  strength  and  fury  as  they  came  along ; to  bend  for ' 
a moment,  as  they  whistled  past ; and  then,  to  look  back  and 
see  them  speed  away,  their  hoarse  noise  dying  in  the  distance, 
and  the  stout  trees  cowering  down  before  them. 

All  day  long,  it  blew  without  cessation.  The  night  was  clear 
and  starlight,  but  the  wind  had  not  fallen,  and  the  cold  was 
piercing.  Sometimes — towards  the  end  of  a long  stage  — Kit 
could  not  help  wishing  it  were  a little  warmer : but  when 
they  stopped  to  change  horses,  and  he  had  had  a good  run, 
and  what  writh  that,  and  the  bustle  of  paying  the  old  postilion, 
and  rousing  the  new  one,  and  running  to  and  fro  again  until 
the  horses  were  put  to,  he  was  so  warm  that  the  blood  tingled 
and  smarted  in  his  fingers’  ends  — then,  he  felt  as  if  to  have 
it  one  degree  less  cold  would  be  to  lose  half  the  delight  and 
glory  of  the  journey : and  up  he  jumped  again,  right  cheerily, 
singing  to  the  merry  music  of  the  wheels  as  they  rolled  away, 
and,  leaving  the  townspeople  in  their  warm  beds,  pursued 
their  course  along  the  lonely  road. 

Meantime  the  two  gentlemen  inside,  who  were  little  dis- 
posed to  sleep,  beguiled  the  time  with  conversation.  As  both 
were  anxious  and  expectant,  it  naturally  turned  upon  the 
subject  of  their  expedition,  on  the  manner  in  which  it  had 


122 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


been  brought  about,  and  on  the  hopes  and  fears  they  enter- 
tained respecting  it.  Of  the  former  they  had  many,  of  the 
latter  few  — none  perhaps  beyond  that  indefinable  uneasi- 
ness which  is  inseparable  from  suddenly  awakened  hope,  and 
protracted  expectation. 

In  one  of  the  pauses  of  their  discourse,  and  when  half  the 
night  had  worn  away,  the  single  gentleman,  who  had  gradually 
become  more  and  more  silent  and  thoughtful,  turned  to  his 
companion  and  said  abruptly : 

“ Are  you  a good  listener  ? ” 

“Like  most  other  men,  I suppose,”  returned  Mr.  Garland, 
smiling.  “ I can  be,  if  I am  interested ; and  if  not  interested, 
I should  still  try  to  appear  so.  Why  do  you  ask  ? ” 

“ I have  a short  narrative  on  my  lips,”  rejoined  his  friend, 
“ and  will  try  you  with  it.  It  is  very  brief.” 

Pausing  for  no  reply,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  old  gentleman’s 
sleeve,  and  proceeded  thus  : 

“ There  were  once  two  brothers,  who  loved  each  other 
dearly.  There  was  a disparity  in  their  ages  — some  twelve 
years.  I am  not  sure  but  they  may  insensibly  have  loved 
each  other  the  better  for  that  reason.  Wide  as  the  interval 
between  them  was,  however,  they  became  rivals  too  soon.  The 
deepest  and  strongest  affection  of  both  their  hearts  settled 
upon  one  object. 

“ The  youngest  — there  w'ere  reasons  for  Jus  being  sensitive 
and  watchful  — was  the  first  to  find  this  out.  I will  not  tell 
you  what  misery  he  underwent,  what  agony  of  soul  he  knew, 
how  great  his  mental  struggle  was.  He  had  been  a sickly 
child.  His  brother,  patient  and  considerate  in  the  midst  of 
his  own  high  health  and  strength,  had  many  and  many  a day 
denied  himself  the  sports  he  loved,  to  sit  beside  his  couch, 
telling  him  old  stories  till  his  pale  face  lighted  up  with  an 
unwonted  glow ; to  carry  him  in  his  arms  to  some  green  spot, 
where  he  could  tend  the  poor,  pensive  boy  as  he  looked  upon 
the  bright  summer  day,  and  saw  all  nature  healthy  but  him- 
self ; to  be,  in  any  way,  his  fond  and  faithful  nurse.  I may 
not  dwell  on  all  he  did,  to  make  the  poor,  weak  creature  love 
him,  or  my  tale  would  have  no  end.  But  when  the  time  of 
trial  came,  the  younger  brother’s  heart  was  full  of  those  old 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP . 


123 


days.  Heaven  strengthened  it  to  repay  the  sacrifices  of  incon- 
siderate youth  by  one  of  thoughtful  manhood.  He  left  his 
brother  to  be  happy.  The  truth  never  passed  his  lips,  and  he 
quitted  the  country,  hoping  to  die  abroad. 

“ The  elder  brother  married  her.  She  was  in  heaven  before 
long,  and  left  him  with  an  infant  daughter. 

“ If  you  have  seen  the  picture-gallery  of  any  one  old  family, 
you  will  remember  how  the  same  face  and  figure  — often  the 
fairest  and  slightest  of  them  all  — come  upon  you  in  different 
generations ; and  how  you  trace  the  same  sweet  girl  through 
a long  line  of  portraits  — never  growing  old  or  changing  — 
the  Good  Angel  of  the  race  — abiding  by  them  in  all  reverses 
— redeeming  all  their  sins  — 

“ In  this  daughter,  the  mother  lived  again.  You  may 
judge  with  what  devotion  he  who  lost  that  mother  almost  in 
the  winning,  clung  to  this  girl,  her  breathing  image.  She 
grew  to  womanhood,  and  gave  her  heart  to  one  who  could  not 
know  its  worth.  Well ! Her  fond  father  could  not  see  her 
pine  and  droop.  He  might  be  more  deserving  than  he 
thought  him.  He  surely  might  become  so,  with  a wife  like 
her.  He  joined  their  hands,  and  they  were  married. 

“ Through  all  the  misery  that  followed  this  union ; through 
all  the  cold  neglect  and  undeserved  reproach ; through  all  the 
poverty  he  brought  upon  her;  through  all  the  struggles  of 
their  daily  life,  too  mean  and  pitiful  to  tell,  but  dreadful  to 
endure ; she  toiled  on,  in  the  deep  devotion  of  her  spirit,  and 
in  her  better  nature,  as  only  women  can.  Her  means  and 
substance  wasted;  her  father  nearly  beggared  by  her  hus- 
band’s hand,  and  the  hourly  witness  (for  they  lived  now  under 
one  roof)  of  her  ill-usage  and  unhappiness,  — she  never,  but 
for  him,  bewailed  her  fate.  Patient,  and  upheld  by  strong 
affection  to  the  last,  she  died  a widow  of  some  three  weeks’ 
date,  leaving  to  her  father’s  care  two  orphans ; one  a son  of 
ten  or  twelve  years  old;  the  other  a girl — such  another  infant 
child  — the  same  in  helplessness,  in  age,  in  form,  in  feature  — 
as  she  had  been  herself  when  her  young  mother  died. 

“ The  elder  brother,  grandfather  to  these  two  children,  was 
now  a broken  man ; crushed  and  borne  down,  less  by  the 
weight  of  years  than  by  the  heavy  hand  of  sorrow.  With 


124 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP . 


the  wreck  of  his  possessions,  he  began  to  trade  — in  pictures 
first,  and  then  in  curious  ancient  things.  He  had  entertained 
a fondness  for  such  matters  from  a boy,  and  the  tastes  he  had 
cultivated  were  now  to  yield  him  an  anxious  and  precarious 
subsistence. 

“ The  boy  grew  like  his  father  in  mind  and  person ; the 
girl  so  like  her  mother,  that  when  the  old  man  had  her  on 
his  knee,  and  looked  into  her  mild  blue  eyes,  he  felt  as  if 
awakening  from  a wretched  dream,  and  his  daughter  were  a 
little  child  again.  The  wayward  boy  soon  spurned  the  shelter 
of  his  roof,  and  sought  associates  more  congenial  to  his  taste. 
The  old  man  and  the  child  dwelt  alone  together. 

“ It  was  then,  when  the  love  of  two  dead  people  who  had 
been  nearest  and  dearest  to  his  heart,  was  all  transferred  to 
this  slight  creature ; when  her  face,  constantly  before  him, 
reminded  him,  from  hour  to  hour,  of  the  too  early  change  he 
had  seen  in  such  another — of  all  the  sufferings  he  had  watched 
and  known,  and  all  his  child  had  undergone ; when  the  young 
man’s  profligate  and  hardened  course  drained  him  of  money 
as  his  father’s  had,  and  even  sometimes  occasioned  them 
temporary  privation  and  distress ; it  was  then  that  there 
began  to  beset  him,  and  to  be  ever  in  his  mind,  a gloomy 
dread  of  poverty  and  want.  He  had  no  thought  for  himself 
in  this.  His  fear  was  for  the  child.  It  was  a spectre  in  his 
house,  and  haunted  him  night  and  day. 

“ The  younger  brother  had  been  a traveller  in  many  coun- 
tries, and  had  made  his  pilgrimage  through  life  alone.  His 
voluntary  banishment  had  been  misconstrued,  and  he  had 
borne  (not  without  pain)  reproach  and  slight,  for  doing  that 
which  had  wrung  his  heart,  and  cast  a mournful  shadow  on 
his  path.  Apart  from  this,  communication  between  him  and 
the  elder  was  difficult,  and  uncertain,  and  often  failed;  still, 
it  was  not  so  wholly  broken  off  but  that  he  learnt  — with  long 
blanks  and  gaps  between  each  interval  of  information  — all 
that  I have  told  you  now. 

“Then,  dreams  of  their  young,  happy  life  — happy  to  him 
though  laden  with  pain  and  early  care  — visited  his  pillow  yet 
oftener  than  before ; and  every  night,  a boy  again,  he  was  at 
his  brother’s  side.  With  the  utmost  speed  he  could  exert,  he 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


125 


settled  his  affairs ; converted  into  money  all  the  goods  he  had, 
and,  with  honorable  wealth  enough  for  both,  with  open  heart 
and  hand,  with  limbs  that  trembled  as  they  bore  him  on,  with 
emotion  such  as  men  can  hardly  bear  and  live,  arrived  one 
evening  at  his  brother’s  door  ! ” 

The  narrator,  whose  voice  had  faltered  lately,  stopped. 
“The  rest,”  said  Mr.  Garland,  pressing  his  hand  after  a 
pause,  “I  know.” 

“Yes,”  rejoined  his  friend,  “we  may  spare  ourselves  the 
sequel.  You  know  the  poor  result  of  all  my  search.  Even 
when,  by  dint  of  such  inquiries  as  the  utmost  vigilance  and 
sagacity  could  set  on  foot,  we  found  they  had  been  seen  with 
two  poor  travelling  showmen  — and  in  time  discovered  the 
men  themselves  — and  in  time,  the  actual  place  of  their 
retreat ; even  then,  we  were  too  late.  Pray  God  we  are  not 
too  late  again ! ” 

“We  cannot  be,”  said  Mr.  Garland.  “This  time  we  must 
succeed.” 

“ I have  believed  and  hoped  so,”  returned  the  other.  “ I 
try  to  believe  and  hope  so  still.  But  a heavy  weight  has 
fallen  on  my  spirits,  my  good  friend,  and  the  sadness  that 
gathers  over  me,  will  yield  to  neither  hope  nor  reason.” 

“ That  does  not  surprise  me,”  said  Mr.  Garland ; “ it  is  a 
natural  consequence  of  the  events  you  have  recalled ; of  this 
dreary  time  and  place ; and  above  all,  of  this  wild  and  dismal 
night.  A dismal  night,  indeed ! Hark ! how  the  wind  is 
howling ! ” 


126 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Day  broke,  and  found  them  still  upon  their  way.  Since 
leaving  home,  they  had  halted  here  and  there  for  necessary 
refreshment,  and  had  frequently  been  delayed,  especially  in 
the  night  time,  by  waiting  for  fresh  horses.  They  had  made 
no  other  stoppages,  but  the  weather  continued  rough  and  the 
roads  were  often  steep  and  heavy.  It  would  be  night  again 
before  they  reached  their  place  of  destination. 

Kit,  all  bluff  and  hardened  with  the  cold,  went  on  man- 
fully ; and,  having  enough  to  do  to  keep  his  blood  circulating, 
to  picture  to  himself  the  happy  end  of  this  adventurous 
journey,  and  to  look  about  him  and  be  amazed  at  everything, 
had  little  spare  time  for  thinking  of  discomforts.  Though  his 
impatience,  and  that  of  his  fellow-travellers,  rapidly  increased 
as  the  day  waned,  the  hours  did  not  stand  still.  The  short 
daylight  of  winter  soon  faded  away,  and  it  was  dark  again 
when  they  had  yet  many  miles  to  travel. 

As  it  grew  dusk  the  wind  fell ; its  distant  moanings  were 
more  low  and  mournful ; and,  as  it  came  creeping  up  the 
road,  and  rattling  covertly  among  the  dry  brambles  on  either 
hand,  it  seemed  like  some  great  phantom  for  whom  the  way 
was  narrow,  whose  garments  rustled  as  it  stalked  along.  By 
degrees  it  lulled  and  died  away,  and  then  it  came  on  to  snow. 

The  flakes  fell  fast  and  thick,  soon  covering  the  ground 
some  inches  deep,  and  spreading  abroad  a solemn  stillness. 
The  rolling  wheels  were  noiseless,  and  the  sharp  ring  and 
clatter  of  the  horses’  hoofs,  became  a dull,  muffled  tramp. 
The  life  of  their  progress  seemed  to  be  slowly  hushed,  and 
something  death-like  to  usurp  its  place. 

Shading  his  eyes  from  the  falling  snow,  which  froze  upon 
their  lashes,  and  obscured  his  sight,  Kit  often  tried  to  catch 
the  earliest  glimpse  of  twinkling  lights  denoting  their 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


127 


approach  to  some  not  distant  town.  He  could  descry  objects 
enough  at  such  times,  but  none  correctly.  Now,  a tall  church 
spire  appeared  in  view,  which  presently  became  a tree,  a barn, 
a shadow  on  the  ground,  thrown  on  it  by  their  own  bright 
lamps.  Now,  there  were  horsemen,  foot-passengers,  carriages 
going  on  before,  or  meeting  them  in  narrow  ways  ; which,  when 
they  were  close  upon  them,  turned  to  shadows  too.  A wall,  a 
ruin,  a sturdy  gable  end,  would  rise  up  in  the  road  ; and,  when 
they  were  plunging  headlong  at  it,  would  be  the  road  itself. 
Strange  turnings  too,  bridges,  and  sheets  of  water,  appeared 
to  start  up  here  and  there,  making  the  way  doubtful  and  un- 
certain ; and  yet  they  were  on  the  same  bare  road,  and  these 
things,  like  the  others,  as  they  were  passed,  turned  into  dim 
illusions. 

He  descended  slowly  from  his  seat  — for  his  limbs  were 
numbed  — when  they  arrived  at  a lone  posting-house,  and  in- 
quired how  far  they  had  to  go  to  reach  their  journey’s  end. 
It  was  a late  hour  in  such  by-places,  and  the  people  were  abed; 
but  a voice  answered  from  an  upper  window,  Ten  miles.  The 
ten  minutes  that  ensued  appeared  an  hour;  but  at  the  end  of 
that  time,  a shivering  figure  led  out  the  horses  they  required, 
and  after  another  brief  delay  they  were  again  in  motion. 

It  was  a cross-country  road,  full,  after  the  first  three  or  four 
miles,  of  holes  and  cart-ruts,  which,  being  covered  by  the  snow, 
were  so  many  pitfalls  to  the  trembling  horses,  and  obliged  them 
to  keep  a footpace.  As  it  was  next  to  impossible  for  men  so 
much  agitated  as  they  were  by  this  time,  to  sit  still  and  move 
so  slowly,  all  three  got  out  and  plodded  on  behind  the  car- 
riage. The  distance  seemed  interminable,  and  the  walk  was 
most  laborious.  As  each  was  thinking  within  himself  that 
the  driver  must  have  lost  his  way,  a church  bell,  close  at  hand, 
struck  the  hour  of  midnight,  and  the  carriage  stopped.  It  had 
moved  softly  enough,  but  when  it  ceased  to  crunch  the  snow, 
the  silence  was  as  startling  as  if  some  great  noise  had  been 
replaced  by  perfect  stillness. 

“This  is  the  place,  gentlemen,”  said  the  driver,  dismount- 
ing from  his  horse,  and  knocking  at  the  door  of  a little- inn. 
“Halloa  ! Past  twelve  o’clock  is  the  dead  of  night  here.” 

The  knocking  was  loud  and  long,  but  it  failed  to  rouse  the 


128 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


drowsy  inmates.  All  continued  dark  and  silent  as  before. 
They  fell  back  a little,  and  looked  up  at  the  windows,  which 
were  mere  black  patches  in  the  whitened  house  front.  No 
light  appeared.  The  house  might  have  been  deserted,  or  the 
sleepers  dead,  for  any  air  of  life  it  had  about  it. 

They  spoke  together  with  a strange  inconsistency,  in  whis- 
pers ; unwilling  to  disturb  again  the  dreary  echoes  they  had 
just  now  raised. 

“Let  us  go  on,”  said  the  younger  brother,  “and  leave  this 
good  fellow  to  wake  them,  if  he  can.  I cannot  rest  until  I 
know  that  we  are  not  too  late.  Let  us  go  on,  in  the  name  of 
Heaven !” 

They  did  so,  leaving  the  postilion  to  order  such  accommo- 
dation as  the  house  afforded,  and  to  renew  his  knocking.  Kit 
accompanied  them  with  a little  bundle,  which  he  had  hung  in 
the  carriage  when  they  left  home,  and  had  not  forgotten  since 
— the  bird  in  his  old  cage  — just  as  she  had  left  him.  She 
would  be  glad  to  see  her  bird,  he  knew. 

The  road  wound  gently  downward.  As  they  proceeded, 
they  lost  sight  of  the  church  whose  clock  they  had  heard,  and 
of  the  small  village  clustering  round  it.  The  knocking,  which 
was  now  renewed,  and  which  in  that  stillness  they  could  plainly 
hear,  troubled  them.  They  wished  the  man  would  forbear,  or 
that  they  had  told  him  not  to  break  the  silence  until  they 
returned. 

The  old  church  tower,  clad  in  a ghostly  garb  of  pure  cold 
white  again  rose  up  before  them,  and  a few  moments  brought 
them  close  beside  it.  A venerable  building  — gray,  even  in 
the  midst  of  the  hoary  landscape.  An  ancient  sun-dial  on  the 
belfry  wall  was  nearly  hidden  by  the  snow-drift,  and  scarcely 
to  be  known  for  what  it  was.  Time  itself  seemed  to  have 
grown  dull  and  old,  as  if  no  day  were  ever  to  displace  the 
melancholy  night. 

A wicket  gate  was  close  at  hand,  but  there  was  more  than 
one  path  across  the  churchyard  to  which  it  led,  and,  uncertain 
which  to  take,  they  came  to  a stand  again. 

The  village  street  — if  street  that  could  be  called  which  was 
an  irregular  cluster  of  poor  cottages  of  many  heights  and  ages, 
some  with  their  fronts,  some  with  their  backs,  and  some  with 


TEH  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


129 


gable  ends  towards  the  road,  with  here  and  there  a sign- 
post, or  a shed  encroaching  on  the  path — was  close  at  hand. 
There  was  a faint  light  in  a chamber  window  not  far  off,  and 
Kit  ran  towards  that  house  to  ask  their  way. 

His  first  shout  was  answered  by  an  old  man  within,  who 
presently  appeared  at  the  casement,  wrapping  some  garment 
round  his  throat  as  a protection  from  the  cold,  and  demanded 
who  was  abroad  at  that  unseasonable  hour  wanting  him. 

“’Tis  hard  weather  this,”  he  grumbled,  “and  not  a night 
to  call  me  up  in.  My  trade  is  not  of  that  kind  that  I need 
be  roused  from  bed.  The  business  on  which  folks  want  me, 
will  keep  cold,  especially  at  this  season.  What  do  you 
want  ? ” 

“I  would  not  have  roused  you,  if  I had  known  you  were 
old  and  ill,”  said  Kit. 

“ Old ! ” repeated  the  other,  peevishly.  “ How  do  you  know 
I am  old  ? Kot  so  old  as  you  think,  friend,  perhaps.  As 
to  being  ill,  you  will  find  many  young  people  in  worse  case 
than  I am.  More’s  the  pity  that  it  should  be  so  — not  that  I 
should  be  strong  and  hearty  for  my  years,  I mean,  but  that 
they  should  be  weak  and  tender.  I ask  your  pardon  though,” 
said  the  old  man,  “ if  I spoke  rather  rough  at  first.  My  eyes 
are  not  good  at  night  — that’s  neither  age  nor  illness;  they 
never  were  — and  I didn’t  see  you  were  a stranger.” 

“I  am  sorry  to  call  you  from  your  bed,”  said  Kit,  “but 
those  gentlemen  you  may  see  by  the  churchyard  gate,  are 
strangers  too,  who  have  just  arrived  from  a long  journey,  and 
seek  the  parsonage-house.  You  can  direct  us  ? ” 

“ I should  be  able  to,”  answered  the  old  man,  in  a trembling 
voice,  “for,  come  next  summer,  I have  been  sexton  here,  good 
fifty  years.  The  right-hand  path,  friend,  is  the  road.  — - There 
is  no  ill  news  for  our  good  gentleman,  I hope  ? ” 

Kit  thanked  him,  and  made  him  a hasty  answer  in  the 
negative ; he  was  turning  back,  when  his  attention  was  caught 
by  the  voice  of  a child.  Looking  up  he  saw  a very  little 
creature  at  a neighboring  window. 

“ What  is  that  ? ” cried  the  child,  earnestly.  “ Has  my 
dream  come  true  ? Pray  speak  to  me,  whoever  that  is,  awake 
and  up.” 

VOL.  II — 9 


130 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


“ Poor  boy ! 55  said  the  sexton,  before  Kit  could  answer, 
“ how  goes  it,  darling  ? 55 

“ Has  my  dream  come  true  ? 55  exclaimed  the  child  again, 
in  a voice  so  fervent  that  it  might  have  thrilled  to  the  heart  of 
any  listener.  “ But  no,  that  can  never  be  ! How  could  it  be 
— Oh ! how  could  it ! 55 

“ I guess  his  meaning/5  said  the  sexton.  “ To  bed  again, 
poor  boy ! 55 

“Ay! 55  cried  the  child,  in  a burst  of  despair.  “I  knew 
it  could  never  be,  I felt  too  sure  of  that,  before  I asked ! 
But,  all  to-night,  and  last  night  too,  it  was  the  same.  I never 
fall  asleep  but  that  cruel  dream  comes  back.55 

“Try  to  sleep  again,55  said  the  old  man,  soothingly.  “It 
will  go,  in  time.55 

“Ko  no,  I would  rather  that  it  stayed  — cruel  as  it  is,  I 
would  rather  that  it  stayed,55  rejoined  the  child.  “I  am  not 
afraid  to  have  it  in  my  sleep,  but  I am  so  sad  — so  very,  very 
sad.55 

The  old  man  blessed  him,  the  child  in  tears  replied  Good 
night,  and  Kit  was  again  alone. 

He  hurried  back,  moved  by  what  he  had  heard,  though 
more  by  the  child’s  manner  than  by  anything  he  had  said,  as 
his  meaning  was  hidden  from  him.  They  took  the  path 
indicated  by  the  sexton,  and  soon  arrived  before  the  parsonage 
wall.  Turning  round  to  look  about  them  when  they  had  got 
thus  far,  they  saw,  among  some  ruined  buildings  at  a distance, 
one  single,  solitary  light. 

It  shone  from  what  appeared  to  be  an  old  oriel  window,  and 
being  surrounded  by  the  deep  shadows  of  overhanging  walls, 
sparkled  like  a star.  Bright  and  glimmering  as  the  stars 
above  their  heads,  lonely  and  motionless  as  they,  it  seemed  to 
claim  some  kindred  with  the  eternal  lamps  of  Heaven,  and  to 
burn  in  fellowship  with  them. 

“ What  light  is  that ! 55  said  the  younger  brother. 

“ It  is  surely,55  said  Mr.  Garland,  “ in  the  ruin  where  they 
live.  I see  no  other  ruin  hereabouts.55 

“They  cannot,55  returned  the  brother,  hastily,  “be  waking 
at  this  late  hour  — 55 

Kit  interposed  directly,  and  begged  that,  while  they  rang 


HER  BIRD, 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


131 


and  waited  at  the  gate,  they  would  let  him  make  his  way  to 
where  this  light  was  shining,  and  try  to  ascertain  if  any 
people  were  about.  Obtaining  the  permission  he  desired,  he 
darted  off  with  breathless  eagerness,  and,  still  carrying  the 
bird-cage  in  his  hand,  made  straight  towards  the  spot. 

It  was  not  easy  to  hold  that  pace  among  the  graves,  and  at 
another  time  he  might  have  gone  more  slowly,  or  round  by 
the  path.  Unmindful  of  all  obstacles,  however,  he  pressed 
forward  without  slackening  his  speed,  and  soon  arrived  within 
a few  yards  of  the  window. 

He  approached  as  softly  as  he  could,  and  advancing  so  near 
the  wall  as  to  brush  the  whitened  ivy  with  his  dress,  listened. 
There  was  no  sound  inside.  The  church  itself  was  not  more 
quiet.  Touching  the  glass  with  his  cheek,  he  listened  again. 
Ho.  And  yet  there  was  such  a silence  all  around  that  he  felt 
sure  he  could  have  heard  even  the  breathing  of  a sleeper,  if 
. there  had  been  one  there. 

A strange  circumstance,  — a light  in  such  a place  at  that 
time  of  night,  with  no  one  near  it. 

A curtain  was  drawn  across  the  lower  portion  of  the 
window,  and  he  could  not  see  into  the  room.  But  there  was 
no  shadow  thrown  upon  it  from  within.  To  have  gained  a 
footing  on  the  wall  and  tried  to  look  in  from  above,  would 
have  been  attended  with  some  danger  — certainly  with  some 
noise,  and  the  chance  of  terrifying  the  child,  if  that  really 
were  her  habitation.  Again  and  again  he  listened ; again 
and  again  the  same  wearisome  blank. 

Leaving  the  spot  with  slow  and  cautious  steps,  and  skirting 
the  ruin  for  a few  paces,  he  came  at  length  to  a door.  He 
knocked.  Ho  answer.  But  there  was  a curious  noise  inside. 
It  was  difficult  to  determine  what  it  was.  It  bore  a resem- 
blance to  the  low  moaning  of  one  in  pain,  but  it  was  not  that, 
being  far  too  regular  and  constant.  How  it  seemed  a kind  of 
song,  now  a wail  — seemed,  that  is,  to  his  changing  fancy,  for 
the  sound  itself  was  never  changed  or  checked.  It  was  unlike 
anything  he  had  ever  heard ; and  in  its  tone  there  was  some- 
thing fearful,  chilling,  and  unearthly. 

The  listener’s  blood  ran  colder  now,  than  ever  it  had  done 
in  frost  and  snow,  but  he  knocked  again.  There  was  no 


132 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


answer,  and  the  sound  went  on  without  any  interruption. 
He  laid  his  hand  softly  upon  the  latch,  and  put  his  knee 
against  the  door.  It  was  secured  on  the  inside,  but  yielded 
to  the  pressure,  and  turned  upon  its  hinges.  He  saw  the 
glimmering  of  a fire  upon  the  old  walls,  and  entered. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


133 


CHAPTEK  XVI. 

The  dull,  red  glow  of  a wood  fire  — for  no  lamp  or  candle 
burnt  within  the  room  — showed  him  a figure,  seated  on  the 
hearth  with  its  back  towards  him,  bending  over  the  fitful 
light.  The  attitude  was  that  of  one  who  sought  the  heat. 
It  was,  and  yet  was  not.  The  stooping  posture  and  the 
cowering  form  were  there,  but  no  hands  were  stretched  out  to 
meet  the  grateful  warmth,  no  shrug  or  shiver  compared  its 
luxury  with  the  piercing  cold  outside.  With  limbs  huddled 
together,  head  bowed  down,  arms  crossed  upon  the  breast, 
and  fingers  tightly  clenched,  it  rocked  to  and  fro  upon  its 
seat  without  a moment’s  pause,  accompanying  the  action  with 
the  mournful  sound  he  had  heard. 

The  heavy  door  had  closed  behind  him  on  his  entrance, 
with  a crash  that  made  him  start.  The  figure  neither  spoke, 
nor  turned  to  look,  nor  gave  in  any  other  way  the  faintest  sign 
of  having  heard  the  noise:  The  form  was  that  of  an  old  man, 

his  white  head  akin  in  color  to  the  mouldering  embers  upon 
which  he  gazed.  He,  and  the  failing  light  and  dying  fire, 
the  time-worn  room,  the  solitude,  the  wasted  life,  and  gloom, 
were  all  in  fellowship.  Ashes,  and  dust,  and  ruin  ! 

Kit  tried  to  speak,  and  did  pronounce  some  words,  though 
what  they  were  he  scarcely  knew.  Still  the  same  terrible 
low  cry  went  on  — still  the  same  rocking  in  the  chair  — the 
same  stricken  figure  was  there,  unchanged  and  heedless  of 
his  presence. 

He  had  his  hand  upon  the  latch,  when  something  in  the 
form  — distinctly  seen  as  one  log  broke  and  fell,  and,  as  it 
fell,  blazed  up  — arrested  it.  He  returned  to  where  he  had 
stood  before — advanced  a pace  — another  — another  still. 
Another,  and  he  saw  the  face.  Yes ! Changed  as  it  was, 
he  knew  it  well. 


134 


TIIP  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


“ Master ! ” he  cried,  stooping  on  one  knee  and  catching  at 
his  hand.  “ Dear  master.  Speak  to  me  ! ” 

The  old  man  turned  slowly  towards  him ; and  muttered  in  a 
hollow  voice, 

“ This  is  another  ! — How  many  of  these  spirits  there  have 
been  to-night ! ” 

“No  spirit,  master.  No  one  but  your  old  servant.  You 
know  me  now,  I am  sure  ? Niss  Nell  — where  is  she  — where 
is  she ! ” 

“ They  all  say  that ! ” cried  the  old  man.  “ They  all  ask  the 
same  question.  A spirit ! ” 

“ Where  is  she  ? ” demanded  Kit.  “ Oh  tell  me  but  that  — 
but  that,  dear  master ! ” 

“ She  is  asleep  — yonder  — in  there.” 

“ Thank  God!” 

“ Aye ! Thank  God ! ” returned  the  old  man.  “ I have 
prayed  to  Him,  many,  and  many,  and  many  a livelong  night, 
when  she  has  been  asleep,  He  knows.  Hark!  Did  she 
call?” 

“ I heard  no  voice.” 

“You  did.  You  hear  her  now.  Do  you  tell  me  that  you 
don’t  hear  that  ?” 

He  started  up,  and  listened  again. 

“Nor  that  ? ” he  cried,  with  a triumphant  smile.  “ Can  any 
body  know  that  voice  so  well  as  I ! Hush ! hush  ! ” 

Motioning  to  him  to  be  silent,  he  stole  away  into  another 
chamber.  After  a short  absence  (during  which  he  could  be 
heard  to  speak  in  a softened,  soothing  tone)  he  returned,  bear- 
ing in  his  hand  a lamp. 

“She  is  still  asleep,”  he  whispered.  “You  were  right. 
She  did  not  call  — unless  she  did  so  in  her  slumber.  She  has 
called  to  me  in  her  sleep  before  now,  sir ; as  I have  sat  by, 
watching,  I have  seen  her  lips  move,  and  have  known,  though 
no  sound  came  from  them,  that  she  spoke  of  me.  I feared  the 
light  might  dazzle  her  eyes  and  wake  her,  so  I brought  it 
here.” 

He  spoke  rather  to  himself  than  to  the  visitor,  but  when  he 
had  put  the  lamp  upon  the  table,  he  took  it  up,  as  if  impelled 
by  some  momentary  recollection  or  curiosity,  and  held  it  near 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


135 


his  face.  Then,  as  if  forgetting  his  motive  in  the  very  action, 
he  turned  away  and  put  it  down  again. 

“She  is  sleeping  soundly/5  he  said;  “but  no  wonder. 
Angel  hands  have  strewn  the  ground  deep  with  snow,  that  the 
lightest  footstep  may  be  lighter  yet ; and  the  very  birds  are 
dead,  that  they  may  not  wake  her.  She  used  to  feed  them, 
sir.  Though  never  so  cold  and  hungry,  the  timid  things 
would  fly  from  us.  They  never  flew  from  her  ! 55 

Again  he  stopped  to  listen,  and  scarcely  drawing  breath, 
listened  for  a long,  long  time.  That  fancy  past,  he  opened  an 
old  chest,  took  out  some  clothes  as  fondly  as  if  they  had  been 
living  things,  and  began  to  smooth  and  brush  them  with  his 
hand. 

“ Why  dost  thou  lie  so  idle  there,  dear  Kell/5  he  murmured, 
“ when  there  are  bright  red  berries  out  of  doors  waiting  for  thee 
to  pluck  them  ! Why  dost  thou  lie  so  idle  there,  when  thy 
little  friends  come  creeping  to  the  door,  crying  ‘ where  is  Kell 

— sweet  Kell  ? 5 — and  sob,  and  weep,  because  they  do  not  see 
thee.  She  was  always  gentle  with  children.  The  wildest 
would  do  her  bidding  — she  had  a tender  way  with  them, 
indeed  she  had  ! 55 

Kit  had  no  power  to  speak.  His  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears. 

“ Her  little  homely  dress,  — her  favorite  ! 55  cried  the  old 
man,  pressing  it  to  his  breast,  and  patting  it  with  his  shriv- 
elled hand.  “ She  will  miss  it  when  she  wakes.  They  have 
hid  it  here  in  sport,  but  she  shall  have  it  — she  shall  have  it. 
I would  not  vex  my  darling,  for  the  wide  world’s  riches.  See 
here  — these  shoes  — how  worn  they  are  — she  kept  them  to 
remind  her  of  our  last  long  journey.  You  see  where  the  little 
feet  went  bare  upon  the  ground.  They  told  me,  afterwards, 
that  the  stones  had  cut  and  bruised  them.  She  never  told  me 
that.  Ko,  no,  God  bless  her ! and,  I have  remembered  since,  she 
walked  behind  me,  sir,  that  I might  not  see  how  lame  she  was 

— but  yet  she  had  my  hand  in  hers,  and  seemed  to  lead  me 
still.55  ' 

He  pressed  them  to  his  lips,  and  having  carefully  put  them 
back  again,  went  on  communing  with  himself  — looking  wist- 


136 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


fully  from  time  to  time  towards  the  chamber  he  had  lately 
visited. 

“ She  was  not  wont  to  be  a lie-abed ; but  she  was  well  then. 
We  must  have  patience.  When  she  is  well  again,  she  will  rise 
early,  as  she  used  to  do,  and  ramble  abroad  in  the  healthy 
morning  time.  I often  tried  to  track  the  way  she.  had  gone, 
but  her  small  footstep  left  no  print  upon  the  dewy  ground,  to 
guide  me.  Who  is  that  ? Shut  the  door.  Quick ! — Have 
we  not  enough  to  do  to  drive  away  that  marble  cold,  and 
keep  her  warm  ! ” 

The  door  was  indeed  opened,  for  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Gar- 
land and  his  friend,  accompanied  by  two  other  persons. 
These  were  the  schoolmaster,  and  the  bachelor.  The  former 
held  a light  in  his  hand.  He  had,  it  seemed,  but  gone  to  his 
own  cottage  to  replenish  the  exhausted  lamp,  at  the  moment 
when  Kit  came  up  and  found  the  old  man  alone. 

He  softened  again  at  sight  of  these  two  friends,  and,  lay- 
ing aside  the  angry  manner  — if  to  anything  so  feeble  and 
so  sad  the  term  can  be  applied  — in  which  he  had  spoken 
when  the  door  opened,  resumed  his  former  seat,  and  subsided, 
by  little  and  little,  into  the  old  action,  and  the  old,  dull,  wan- 
dering sound. 

Of  the  strangers,  he  took  no  heed  whatever.  He  had  seen 
them,  but  appeared  quite  incapable  of  interest  or  curiosity. 
The  younger  brother  stood  apart.  The  bachelor  drew  a chair 
towards  the  old  man,  and  sat  down  close  beside  him.  After  a 
long  silence,  he  ventured  to  speak. 

“ Another  night,  and  not  in  bed  ! ” he  said,  softly ; “ I hoped 
you  would  be  more  mindful  of  your  promise  to  me.  Why  do 
you  not  take  some  rest  ? ” 

“ Sleep  has  left  me,”  returned  the  old  man.  “ It  is  all  with 
her ! ” 

“It  would  pain  her  very  much  to  know  that  you  were 
watching  thus,”  said  the  bachelor.  “You  would  not  give  her 
pain  ? ” 

“ I am  not  so  sure  of  that,  if  it  would  only  rouse  her.  She 
has  slept  so  very  long.  And  yet  I am  rash  to  say  so.  It  is  a 
good  and  happy  sleep  — eh  ? ” 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


187 


“ Indeed  it  is,”  returned  the  bachelor.  “ Indeed,  indeed, 
it  is ! ” 

“That’s  well ! — and  the  waking” — faltered  the  old  man. 

“Happy  too.  Happier  than  tongue  can  tell,  or  heart  of 
man  conceive.” 

They  watched  him  as  he  rose  and  stole  on  tiptoe  to  the 
other  chamber  where  the  lamp  had  been  replaced.  They 
listened  as  he  spoke  again  within  its  silent  walls.  They 
looked  into  the  faces  of  each  other,  and  no  man’s  cheek  was 
free  from  tears.  He  came  back,  whispering  that  she  was  still 
asleep,  but  that  he  thought  she  had  moved.  It  was  her  hand, 
he  said  — a little  — a very,  very  little  — but  he  was  pretty 
sure  she  had  moved  it  — perhaps  in  seeking  his.  He  had 
known  her  to  do  that,  before  now,  though  in  the  deepest  sleep 
the  while.  And  when  he  had  said  this,  he  dropped  into  his 
chair  again,  and  clasping  his  hands  above  his  head,  uttered  a 
cry  never  to  be  forgotten. 

The  poor  schoolmaster  motioned  to  the  bachelor  that  he 
would  come  on  the  other  side,  and  speak  to  him.  They 
gently  unlocked  his  fingers,  which  he  had  twisted  in  his  gray 
hair,  and  pressed  them  in  their  own. 

“ He  will  hear  me,”  said  the  schoolmaster,  “ I am  sure.  He 
will  hear  either  me  or  you  if  we  beseech  him.  She  would,  at 
all  times.” 

“I  will  hear  any  voice  she  liked  to  hear,”  cried  the  old 
man.  “ I love  all  she  loved ! ” 

“ I know  you  do,”  returned  the  schoolmaster.  “ I am  cer- 
tain of  it.  Think  of  her ; think  of  all  the  sorrows  and  afflic- 
tions you  have  shared  together ; of  all  the  trials,  and  all  the 
peaceful  pleasures,  you  have  jointly  known.” 

“ I do.  I do.  I think  of  nothing  else.” 

“I  would  have  you  think  of  nothing  else  to-night  — of 
nothing  but  those  things  which  will  soften  your  heart,  dear 
friend,  and  open  it  to  old  affections  and  old  times.  It  is  so 
that  she  would  speak  to  you  herself,  and  in  her  name  it  is 
that  I speak  now.” 

“You  do  well  to  speak  softly,”  said  the  old  man.  “We 
will  not  wake  her.  I should  be  glad  to  see  her  eyes  again, 
and  to  see  her  smile.  There  is  a smile  upon  her  young  face 


138 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


now,  but  it  is  fixed  and  changeless.  I would  have  it  come 
and  go.  That  shall  be  in  Heaven’s  good  time.  We  will  not 
wake  her.” 

“ Let  us  not  talk  of  her  in  her  sleep,  but  as  she  used  to  be 
when  you  were  journeying  together,  far  away  — as  she  was  at 
home,  in  the  old  house  from  which  you  fled  together  — as  she 
was,  in  the  old  cheerful  time,”  said  the  schoolmaster. 

“She  was  always  cheerful  — very  cheerful,”  cried  the  old 
man,  looking  steadfastly  at  him.  “ There  was  ever  something 
mild  and  quiet  about  her,  I remember,  from  the  first ; but  she 
was  of  a happy  nature.” 

“We  have  heard  you  say,”  pursued  the  schoolmaster,  “that 
in  this,  and  in  all  goodness,  she  was  like  her  mother.  You 
can  think  of,  and  remember  her  ? ” 

He  maintained  his  steadfast  look,  but  gave  no  answer. 

“ Or  even  one  before  her,”  said  the  bachelor.  “ It  is  many 
years  ago,  and  affliction  makes  the  time  longer,  but  you  have 
not  forgotten  her  whose  death  contributed  to  make  this  child 
so  dear  to  you,  even  before  you  knew  her  worth  or  could  read 
her  heart  ? Say,  that  you  could  carry  back  your  thoughts  to 
very  distant  days  — to  the  time  of  your  early  life  — when,  un- 
like this  fair  flower,  you  did  not  pass  your  youth  alone.  Say, 
that  you  could  remember,  long  ago,  another  child  who  loved 
you  dearly,  you  being  but  a child  yourself.  Say,  that  you  had 
a brother,  long  forgotten,  long  unseen,  long  separated  from 
you,  who  now,  at  last,  in  your  utmost  need  came  back  to  com- 
fort and  console  you  ” — 

“To  be  to  you  what  you  were  once  to  him,”  cried  the 
younger,  falling  on  his  knee  before  him ; “ to  repay  your  old 
affection,  brother  dear,  by  constant  care,  solicitude,  and  love ; 
to  be,  at  your  right  hand,  what  he  has  never  ceased  to  be 
when  oceans  rolled  between  us ; to  call  to  witness  his  un- 
changing truth  and  mindfulness  of  by-gone  days,  whole  years 
of  desolation.  Give  me  but  one  word  of  recognition,  brother 
— and  never  — no  never,  in  the  brightest  moment  of  our 
youngest  days,  when,  poor  silly  boys,  we  thought  to  pass  our 
lives  together  — have  we  been  half  as  dear  and  precious  to 
each  other  as  we  shall  be  from  this  time  hence ! ” 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


139 


The  old  man  looked  from  face  to  face,  and  his  lips  moved ; 
but  no  sound  came  from  them  in  reply. 

“If  we  were  knit  together  then,”  pursued  the  younger 
brother,  “ what  will  be  the  bond  between  us  now  ! Our  love 
and  fellowship  began  in  childhood,  when  life  was  all  before 
us,  and  will  be  resumed  when  we  have  proved  it,  and  are  but 
children  at  the  last.  As  many  restless  spirits,  who  have 
hunted  fortune,  fame,  or  pleasure  through  the  world,  retire  in 
their  decline  to  where  they  first  drew  breath,  vainly  seeking 
to  be  children  once  again  before  they  die,  so  we,  less  fortunate 
than  they  in  early  life,  but  happier  in  its  closing  scenes,  will 
set  up  our  rest  again  among  our  boyish  haunts,  and  going 
home  with  no  hope  realized,  that  had  its  growth  in  manhood 
— carrying  back  nothing  that  we  brought  away,  but  our  old 
yearnings  to  each  other  — saving  no  fragment  from  the  wreck 
of  life,  but  that  which  first  endeared  it  — may  be,  indeed,  but 
children  as  at  first.  And  even,”  he  added  in  an  altered  voice, 
“ even  if  what  I dread  to  name  has  come  to  pass  — even  if 
that  be  so,  or  is  to  be  (which  Heaven  forbid  and  spare  us  !)  — 
still,  dear  brother,  we  are  not  apart,  and  have  that  comfort  in 
our  great  affliction.” 

By  little  and  little,  the  old  man  had  drawn  back  towards 
the  inner  chamber,  while  these  words  were  spoken.  He 
pointed  there,  as  he  replied,  with  trembling  lips, 

“You  plot  among  you  to  wean  my  heart  from  her.  You 
never  will  do  that  — never  while  I have  life.  I have  no  rela- 
tive or  friend  but  her  — I never  had  — I never  will  have.  She 
is  all  in  all  to  me.  It  is  too  late  to  part  us  now.” 

Waving  them  off  with  his  hand,  and  calling  softly  to  her  as 
he  went,  he  stole  into  the  room.  They  who  were  left  behind, 
drew  close  together,  and  after  a few  whispered  words  — not 
unbroken  by  emotion,  or  easily  uttered  — followed  him.  They 
moved  so  gently,  that  their  footsteps  made  no  noise  ; but  there 
were  sobs  from  among  the  group,  and  sounds  of  grief  and 
mourning.  ■ — ^ 

For  she  was  dead.  There,  upon  her  little  bed,  she  lay  at 
rest.  The  solemn  stillness  was  no  marvel  now. 

She  was  dead.  Ho  sleep  so  beautiful  and  calm,  so  free  from 
trace  of  pain,  so  fair  to  look  upon.  She  seemed  a creature 


140 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


fresh  from  the  hand  of  God,  and  waiting  for  the  breath  of 
life ; not  one  who  had  lived  and  suffered  death. 

Her  couch  was  dressed  with  here  and  there  some  winter 
berries  and  green  leaves,  gathered  in  a spot  she  had  been  used 
to  favor.  “ When  I die,  put  near  me  something  that  has  loved 
the  light,  and  had  the  sky  above  it  always.  ” Those,  were  her 
words. 

She  was  dead.  Dear,  gentle,  patient,  noble  Nell,  was  dead. 
Her  little  bird  — a poor,  slight  thing  the  pressure  of  a finger 
would  have  .crushed  — was  stirring  nimbly  in  its  cage;  and 
the  strong  heart  of  its  child-mistress  was  mute  and  motionless 
for  ever. 

Where  were  the  traces  of  her  early  cares,  her  sufferings,  and 
fatigues  ? All  gone.  Sorrow  was  dead  indeed  in  her,  but 
peace  and  perfect  happiness  were  born ; imaged  in  her  tran- 
quil beauty  and  profound  repose. 

And  still  her  former  self  lay  there,  unaltered  in  this  change. 
Yes.  The  old  fireside  had  smiled  upon  that  same  sweet  face ; 
it  had  passed,  like  a dream,  through  haunts  of  misery  and  care : 
at  the  door  of  the  poor  schoolmaster  on  the  summer  evening, 
before  the  furnace  fire  upon  the  cold  wet  night,  at  the  still 
bedside  of  the  dying  boy,  there  had  been  the  same  mild,  lovely 
look.  So  shall  we  know  the  angels  in  their  majesty,  after 
death. 

The  old  man  held  one  languid  arm  in  his,  and  had  the  small 
hand  tight  folded  to  his  breast,  for  warmth.  It  was  the  hand 
she  had  stretched  out  to  him  with  her  last  smile  — the  hand 
that  had  led  him  on,  through  all  their  wanderings.  Ever  and 
anon  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips ; then  hugged  it  to  his  breast 
again,  murmuring  that  it  was  warmer  now ; and,  as  he  said  it, 
he  looked,  in  agony,  to  those  who  stood  around,  as  if  implor- 
ing them  to  help  her. 

She  was  dead,  and  past  all  help,  or  need  of  it.  The  ancient 
rooms  she  had  seemed  to  fill  with  life,  even  while  her  own 
was  waning  fast  — the  garden  she  had  tended  — the  eyes  she 
had  gladdened  — the  noiseless  haunts  of  many  a thoughtful 
hour  — the  paths  she  had  trodden  as  it  were  but  yesterday  — 
could  know  her  never  more. 

“ It  is  not,”  said  the  schoolmaster,  as  he  bent  down  to  kiss 


AT  REST 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


141 


her  on  the  cheek,  and  gave  his  tears  free  vent,  “ it  is  not  on 
earth  that  Heaven’s  justice  ends.  Think  what  earth  is,  com- 
pared with  the  world  to  which  her  young  spirit  has  winged  its 
early  flight ; and  say,  if  one  deliberate  wish  expressed  in  solemn 
terms  above  this  bed  could  call  her  back  to  life,  which  of  us 
would  utter  it ! ” 


142 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


) 


CHAPTEK  XVII. 

When  morning  came,  and  they  could  speak  more  calmly  on 
the  subject  of  their  grief,  they  heard  how  her  life  had  closed. 

She  had  been  dead  two  days.  They  were  all  about  her  at 
the  time,  knowing  that  the  end  was  drawing  on.  She  died 
soon  after  daybreak.  They  had  read  and  talked  to  her  in  the 
earlier  portion  of  the  night,  but  as  the  hours  crept  on,  she 
sunk  to  sleep.  They  could  tell  by  what  she  faintly  uttered 
in  her  dreams,  that  they  were  of  her  journeyings  with  the  old 
man ; they  were  of  no  painful  scenes,  but  of  people  who  had 
helped  and  used  them  kindly,  for  she  often  said  “ God  bless 
you  ! ” with  great  fervor.  Waking,  she  never  wandered  in  her 
mind  but  once,  and  that  was  of  beautiful  music  which  she  said 
was  in  the  air.  God  knows.  It  may  have  been. 

Opening  her  eyes  at  last,  from  a very  quiet  sleep,  she  begged 
that  they  would  kiss  her  once  again.  That  done,  she  turned 
to  the  old  man  with  a lovely  smile  upon  her  face  — such,  they 
said,  as  they  had  never  seen,  and  never  could  forget  — and 
clung  with  both  her  arms  about  his  neck.  They  did  not  know 
thatjjhe  was  dead,  at  first. 

She  had  spoken  very  often  of  the  two  sisters,  who,  she  said, 
were  like  dear  friends  to  her.  She  wished  they  could  be  told 
how  much  she  thought  about  them,  and  how  she  had  watched 
them  as  they  walked  together,  by  the  river  side  at  night.  She 
would  like  to  see  poor  Kit,  she  had  often  said  of  late.  She 
wished  there  was  somebody  to  take  her  love  to  Kit.  And, 
even  then,  she  never  thought  or  spoke  about  him,  but  with 
something  of  her  old,  clear,  merry  laugh. 

For  the  rest,  she  had  never  murmured  or  complained;  but, 
with  a quiet  mind,  and  manner  quite  unaltered  — save  that 
she  every  day  became  more  earnest  and  more  grateful  to  them 
— faded  like  the  light  upon  a summer’s  evening. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


143 


The  child  who  had  been  her  little  friend  came  there,  almost 
as  soon  as  it  was  day,  with  an  offering  of  dried  flowers  which 
he  begged  them  to  lay  upon  her  breast.  It  was  he  who  had 
come  to  the  window  overnight  and  spoken  to  the  sexton,  and 
they  saw  in  the  snow  traces  of  small  feet,  where  he  had  been 
lingering  near  the  room  in  which  she  lay,  before  he  went  to 
bed.  He  had  a fancy,  it  seemed,  that  they  had  left  her  there 
alone ; and  could  not  bear  the  thought. 

He  told  them  of  his  dream  again,  and  that  it  was  of  her 
being  restored  to  them,  just  as  she  used  to  be.  He  begged 
hard  to  see  her,  saying  that  he  would  be  very  quiet,  and  that 
they  need  not  fear  his  being  alarmed,  for  he  had  sat  alone  by 
his  young  brother  all  day  long,  when  lie  was  dead,  and  had 
felt  glad  to  be  so  near  him.  They  let  him  have  his  wish ; 
and  indeed  he  kept  his  word,  and  was,  in  his  childish  way,  a 
lesson  to  them  all. 

Up  to  that  time,  the  old  man  had  not  spoken  once  — except 
to  her  — or  stirred  from  the  bedside.  But  when  he  saw  her 
little  favorite,  he  was  moved  as  they  had  not  seen  him  yet, 
and  made  as  though  he  would  have  him  come  nearer.  Then, 
pointing  to  the  bed,  he  burst  into  tears  for  the  first  time,  and 
they  who  stood  by,  knowing  that  the  sight  of  this  child  had 
done  him  good,  left  them  alone  together. 

Soothing  him  with  his  artless  talk  of  her,  the  child  per- 
suaded him  to  take  some  rest,  to  walk  abroad,  to  do  almost 
as  he  desired  him.  And  when  the  day  came  on,  which  must 
remove  her  in  her  earthly  shape  from  earthly  eyes  forever,  he 
led  him  away,  that  he  might  not  know  when  she  was  taken 
from  him. 

They  were  to  gather  fresh  leaves  and  berries  for  her  bed. 
It  was  Sunday  — a bright,  clear,  wintry  afternoon  — and  as 
they  traversed  the  village  street,  those  who  were  walking  in 
their  path  drew  back  to  make  way  for  them,  and  gave  them  a 
softened  greeting.  Some  shook  the  old  man  kindly  by  the 
hand,  some  stood  uncovered  while  he  tottered  by,  and  many 
cried  “ God  help  him  ! ” as  he  passed  along. 

“ Neighbor ! ” said  the  old  man,  stopping  at  the  cottage 
where  his  young  guide’s  mother  dwelt,  “ how  is  it  that  the 


144 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


folks  are  nearly  all  in  black  to-day  ? I have  seen  a mourning 
ribbon  or  a piece  of  crape  on  almost  every  one.” 

She  could  not  tell,  the  woman  said. 

“ Why,  you  yourself  — you  wear  the  color  too ! ” he  said. 
“ Windows  are  closed  that  never  used  to  be  by  day.  What 
does  this  mean  ? ” 

Again  the  woman  said  she  could  not  tell.  . 

“We  must  go  back,”  said  the  old  man,  hurriedly.  “We 
must  see  what  this  is.” 

“ No,  no,”  cried  the  child,  detaining  him.  “ Remember 
what  you  promised.  Our  way  is  to  the  old  green  lane,  where 
she  and  I so  often  were,  and  where  you  found  us,  more  than 
once,  making  those  garlands  for  her  garden.  Do  not  turn 
back ! ” 

“ Where  is  she  now  ? ” said  the  old  man.  “ Tell  me  that.” 

“ Do  you  not  know  ? ” returned  the  child.  “ Did  we  not 
leave  her,  but  just  now  ? ” 

“ True.  True.  It  was  her  we  left  — was  it ! ” 

He  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  looked  vacantly  round, 
and  as  if  impelled  by  a sudden  thought,  crossed  the  road,  and 
entered  the  sexton’s  house.  He  and  his  deaf  assistant  were 
sitting  before  the  fire.  Both  rose  up,  on  seeing  who  it  was. 

The  child  made  a hasty  sign  to  them  with  his  hand.  It 
was  the  action  of  an  instant,  but  that,  and  the  old  man’s  look, 
were  quite  enough. 

“ Do  you  — do  you  bury  any  one  to-day  ? ” he  said,  eagerly. 

“No,  no!  Who  should  we  bury,  sir?”  returned  the 
sexton. 

“ Aye,  who  indeed  ! I say  with  you,  who  indeed  ? ” 

“ It  is  a holiday  with  us,  good  sir,”  returned  the  sexton, 
mildly.  “We  have  no  work  to  do  to-day.” 

“ Why  then,  I’ll  go  where  you  will,”  said  the  old  man,  turn- 
ing to  the  child.  “ You’re  sure  of  what  you  tell  me  ? You 
would  not  deceive  me  ? I am  changed,  even  in  the  little  time 
since  you  last  saw  me.” 

“Go  thy  ways  with  him,  sir,”  cried  the  sexton,  “ and  Heaven 
be  with  ye  both  ! ” 

“I  am  quite  ready,”  said  the  old  man,  meekly.  “Come, 
boy,  come  — ” and  so  submitted  to  be  led  away. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


145 


And  now  the  bell  — the  bell  she  had  so  often  heard,  by  night 
and  day,  and  listened  to  with  solemn  pleasure  almost  as  a 
living  voice — rung  its  remorseless  toll,  for  her,  so  young, 
so  beautiful,  so  good.  Decrepit  age,  and  vigorous  life,  and 
blooming  youth,  and  helpless  infancy,  poured  forth  — on 
crutches,  in  the  pride  of  strength  and  health,  in  the  full  blush 
of  promise,  in  the  mere  dawn  of  life  — to  gather  round  her 
tomb.  Old  men  were  there,  whose  eyes  were  dim  and  senses 
failing  — grandmothers,  who  might  have  died  ten  years  ago, 
and  still  been  old  — the  deaf,  the  blind,  the  lame,  the  palsied, 
the  living  dead  in  many  shapes  and  forms,  to  see  the  closing 
of  that  early  grave.  What  was  the  death  it  would  shut  in,  to 
that  which  still  could  crawl  and  creep  above  it ! 

Along  the  crowded  path  they  bore  her  now;  pure  as  the 
newly  fallen  snow  that  covered  it ; whose  day  on  earth  had 
been  as  fleeting.  Under  the  porch,  where  she  had  sat  when 
Heaven  in  its  mercy  brought  her  to  that  peaceful  spot,  she 
passed  again;  and  the  old  church  received  her  in  its  quiet 
shade. 

They  carried  her  to  one  old  nook,  where  she  had  many  and 
many  a time  sat' musing,  and  laid  their  burden  softly  on  the 
pavement.  The  light  streamed  on  it  through  the  colored  win- 
dow — a window,  where  the  boughs  of  trees  were  ever  rustling 
in  the  summer,  and  where  the  birds  sang  sweetly  all  day  long. 
With  every  breath  of  air  that  stirred  among  those  branches  in 
the  sunshine,  some  trembling,  changing  light  would  fall  upon 
her  grave. 

Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust ! Many  a young 
hand  dropped  in  its  little  wreath,  many  a stifled  sob  was  heard. 
Some  — and  they  were  not  a few — knelt  down.  All  were  sin- 
cere and  truthful  in  their  sorrow. 

The  service  done,  the  mourners  stood  apart,  and  the  villagers 
closed  round  to  look  into  the  grave  before  the  pavement-stone 
should  be  replaced.  One  called  to  mind  how  he  had  seen  her 
sitting  on  that  very  spot,  and  how  her  book  had  fallen  on  her 
lap,  and  she  was  gazing  with  a pensive  face  upon  the  sky. 
Another  told  how  he  had  wondered  much  that  one  so  delicate 
as  she  should  be  so  bold ; how  she  had  never  feared  to  enter 
the  church  alone  at  night,  but  had  loved  to  linger  there  when 
VOL.  II — 10 


146  THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 

all  was  qniet;  and  even  to  climb  the  tower  stair,  with  no  more 
light  than  that  of  the  moon  rays  stealing  through  the  loopholes 
in  the  thick  old  wall.  A whisper  went  about  among  the  old- 
est; that  she  had  seen  and  talked  with  angels ; and  when  they 
called  to  mind  how  she  had  looked,  and  spoken,  and  her  early 
death,  some  thought  it  might  be  so,  indeed.  Thus,  coming  to 
the  grave  in  little  knots,  and  glancing  down,  and  giving  place 
to  others,  and  falling  off  in  whispering  groups  of  three  or 
four,  the  church  was  cleared  in  time,  of  all  but  the  sexton  and 
the  mourning  friends. 

They  saw  the  vault  covered,  and  the  stone  fixed  down. 
Then,  when  the  dusk  of  evening  had  come  on,  and  not  a sound 
disturbed  the  sacred  stillness  of  the  place  — when  the  bright 
moon  poured  in  her  light  on  tomb  and  monument,  on  pillar, 
wall,  and  arch,  and  most  of  all  (it  seemed  to  them)  upon  her 
quiet  grave  — in  that  calm  time,  when  outward  things  and 
inward  thoughts  teem  with  assurances  of  immortality,  and 
worldly  hopes  and  fears  are  humbled  in  the  dust  before  them 
— then,  with  tranquil  and  submissive  hearts  they  turned 
away,  and  left  the  child  with  God. 

Oh  ! it  is  hard  to  take  to  heart  the  lesson  that  such  deaths 
will  teach,  but  let  no  man  reject  it,  for  it  is  one  that  all  must 
learn,  and  is  a mighty,  universal  Truth.  When  Death  strikes 
down  the  innocent  and  young,  for  every  fragile  form  from 
which  he  lets  the  panting  spirit  free,  a hundred  virtues  rise, 
in  shapes  of  mercy,  charity,  and  love,  to  walk  the  world,  and 
bless' it.  Of  every  tear  that  sorrowing  mortals  shed  on  such 
green  graves,  some  good  is  born,  some  gentler  nature  comes. 
In  the  Destroyer’s  steps  there  spring  up  bright  creations  that 
defy  his  power,  and  his  dark  path  becomes  a way  of  light  to 
Heaven. 

It  was  late  when  the  old  man  came  home.  The  boy  had 
led  him  to  his  own  dwelling,  under  some  pretence,  on  their 
way  back ; and,  rendered  drowsy  by  his  long  ramble  and  late 
want  of  rest,  he  had  sunk  into  a deep  sleep  by  the  fireside. 
He  was  perfectly  exhausted,  and  they  were  careful  not  to 
rouse  him.  The  slumber  held  him  a long  time,  and  when  he 
at  length  awoke  the  moon  was  shining. 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


147 


The  younger  brother,  uneasy  at  his  protracted  absence,  was 
watching  the  door  for  his  coming,  when  he  appeared  in  the 
pathway  with  his  little  guide.  He  advanced  to  meet  them, 
and  tenderly  obliging  the  old  man  to  lean  upon  his  arm,  con- 
ducted him  with  slow  and  trembling  steps  towards  the  house. 

He  repaired  to  her  chamber,  straight.  Not  finding  what  he 
had  left  there,  he  returned  with  distracted  looks  to  the  room 
in  which  they  were  assembled.  From  that,  he  rushed  into 
the  schoolmaster’s  cottage,  calling  her  name.  They  followed 
close  upon  him,  and  when  he  had  vainly  searched  it,  brought 
him  home. 

With  such  persuasive  words  as  pity  and  affection  could 
suggest,  they  prevailed  upon  him  to  sit  among  them  and  hear 
what  they  should  tell  him.  Then,  endeavoring  by  every 
little  artifice  to  prepare  his  mind  for  what  must  come,  and 
dwelling  with  many  fervent  words  upon  the  happy  lot  to 
which  she  had  been  removed,  they  told  him,  at  last,  the  truth. 
The  moment  it  had  passed  their  lips,  he  fell  down  among 
them  like  a murdered  man. 

For  many  hours,  they  had  little  hope  of  his  surviving;  but 
grief  is  strong,  and  he  recovered. 

If  there  be  any  who  have  never  known  the  blank  that  fol- 
lows death  — the  weary  void  — the  sense  of  desolation  that 
will  come  upon  the  strongest  minds,  when  something  familiar 
and  beloved  is  missed  at  every  turn  — the  connection  between 
inanimate  and  senseless  things,  and  the  object  of  recollection, 
when  every  household  god  becomes  a monument,  and  every 
room  a grave  — if  there  be  any  who  have  not  known  this,  and 
proved  it  by  their  own  experience,  they  can  never  faintly 
guess,  how,  for  many  days,  the  old  man  pined  and  moped 
away  the  time,  and  wandered  here  and  there  as  seeking  some- 
thing, and  had  no  comfort. 

Whatever  power  of  thought  or  memory  he  retained,  was  all 
bound  up  in  her.  He  never  understood,  or  seemed  to  care  to 
understand,  about  his  brother.  To  every  endearment  and 
attention  he  continued  listless.  If  they  spoke  to  him  on  this, 
or  any  other  theme  — save  one — he  would  hear  them  patiently 
for  a while,  then  turn  away,  and  go  on  seeking  as  before. 

On  that  one  theme,  which  was  in  his  and  all  their  minds, 


148 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


it  was  impossible  to  touch.  Dead ! He  could  not  hear  or 
bear  the  word.  The  slightest  hint  of  it  would  throw  him  into 
a paroxysm,  like  that  he  had  had  when  it  was  first  spoken. 
In  what  hope  he  lived,  no  man  could  tell ; but,  that  he  had 
some  hope  of  finding  her  again  — some  faint  and  shadowy 
hope,  deferred  from  day  to  day,  and  making  him  from  day  to 
day  more  sick  and  sore  at  heart  — was  plain  to  all. 

They  bethought  them  of  a removal  from  the  scene  of  this 
last  sorrow ; of  trying  whether  change  of  place  would  rouse  or 
cheer  him.  His  brother  sought  the  advice  of  those  who  were 
accounted  skilful  in  such  matters,  and  they  came  and  saw  him. 
Some  of  the  number  stayed  upon  the  spot,  conversed  with  him 
when  he  would  converse,  and  watched  him  as  he  wandered  up 
and  down,  alone  and  silent.  Move  him  where  they  might, 
they  said,  he  would  ever  seek  to  get  back  there.  His  mind 
would  run  upon  that  spot.  If  they  confined  him  closely,  and 
kept  a strict  guard  upon  him,  they  might  hold  him  prisoner, 
but  if  he  could  by  any  means  escape,  he  would  surely  wander 
back  to  that  place,  or  die  upon  the  road. 

The  boy  to  whom  he  had  submitted  at  first,  had  no  longer 
any  influence  with  him.  At  times  he  would  suffer  the  child 
to  walk  by  his  side,  or  would  even  take  such  notice  of  his 
presence  as  giving  him  his  hand,  or  would  stop  to  kiss  his 
cheek,  or  pat  him  on  the  head.  At  other  times,  he  would 
entreat  him  — not  unkindly  — to  be  gone,  and  would  not  brook 
him  near.  But,  whether  alone,  or  with  this  pliant  friend,  or 
with  those  who  would  have  given  him,  at  any  cost  or  sacrifice, 
some  consolation  or  some  peace  of  mind,  if  happily  the  means 
could  have  been  devised,  he  was  at  all  times  the  same  — with 
no  love  or  care  for  anything  in  life  — a broken-hearted  man. 

At  length,  they  found,  one  day,  that  he  had  risen  early, 
and,  with  his  knapsack  on  his  back,  his  staff  in  hand,  her  own 
straw  hat,  and  little  basket  full  of  such  things  as  she  had 
been  used  to  carry,  was  gone.  As  they  were  making  ready  to 
pursue  him  far  and  wide,  a frightened  schoolboy  came  who 
had  seen  him,  but  a moment  before,  sitting  in  the  church  — 
upon  her  grave,  he  said. 

They  hastened  there,  and  going  softly  to  the  door,  espied 
him  in  the  attitude  of  one  who  waited  patiently.  They  did 


HER  GRANDFATHER  AT  THE  GRAVE 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP . 


149 


not  disturb  him  then,  but  kept  a watch  upon  him  all  that  day. 
When  it  grew  quite  dark,  he  rose  and  returned  home,  and 
went  to  bed,  murmuring  to  himself,  “ She  will  come  to- 
morrow ! ” 

Upon  the  morrow  he  was  there  again  from  sunrise  until 
night ; and  still  at  night  he  laid  him  down  to  rest,  and  mur- 
mured, “ She  will  come  to-morrow  ! ” 

And  thenceforth,  every  day,  and  all  day  long,  he  waited  at 
her  grave,  for  her.  How  many  pictures  of  new  journeys  over 
pleasant  country,  of  resting-places  under  the  free  broad  sky, 
of  rambles  in  the  fields  and  woods,  and  paths  not  often 
trodden  — how  many  tones  of  that  one  well-remembered  voice 
— how  many  glimpses  of  the  form,  the  fluttering  dress,  the 
hair  that  waved  so  gaily  in  the  wind  — how  many  visions  of 
what  had  been,  and  what  he  hoped  was  yet  to  be  — rose  up 
before  him,  in  the  old,  dull,  silent  church  ! He  never  told 
them  what  he  thought,  or  where  he  went.  He  would  sit  with 
them  at  night,  pondering  with  a secret  satisfaction,  they  could 
see,  upon  the  flight  that  he  and  she  would  take  before  night 
came  again ; and  -still  they  would  hear  him  whisper  in  his  pray- 
ers, “ Lord  ! Let  her  come  to-morrow  ! ” 

The  last  time  was  on  a genial  day  in  spring.  He  did  not 
return  at  the  usual  hour,  and  they  went  to  seek  him.  He  was 
lying  dead  upon  the  stone. 

They  laid  him  by  the  side  of  her  whom  he  had  loved  so 
well;  and,  in  the  church  where  they  had  often  prayed,  and 
mused,  and  lingered  hand  in  hand,  the  child  and  the  old  man 
slept  together. 


150 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


CHAPTEB  THE  LAST. 

The  magic  reel,  which,  rolling  on  before,  has  led  the  chron- 
icler thus  far,  now  slackens  in  its  pace,  and  stops.  It  lies 
before  the  goal ; the  pursuit  is  at  an  end. 

It  remains  but  to  dismiss  the  leaders  of  the  little  crowd 
who  have  borne  us  company  upon  the  road,  and  so  to  close  the 
journey. 

Foremost  among  them,  smooth  Sampson  Brass  and  Sally, 
arm  in  arm,  claim  our  polite  attention. 

Mr.  Sampson,  then,  being  detained,  as  already  has  been 
shown,  by  the  justice  upon  whom  he  called,  and  being  so 
strongly  pressed  to  protract  his  stay  that  he  could  by  no  means 
refuse,  remained  under  his  protection  for  a considerable  time, 
during  which  the  great  attention  of  his  -entertainer  kept  him 
so  extremely  close,  that  he  was  quite  lost  to  society,  and  never 
even  went  abroad  for  exercise  saving  into  a small  paved  yard. 
So  well,  indeed,  was  his  modest  and  retiring  temper  understood 
by  those  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  and  so  jealous  were  they 
of  his  absence,  that  they  required  a kind  of  friendly  bond  to 
be  entered  into  by  two  substantial  housekeepers,  in  the  sum  of 
fifteen  hundred  pounds  apiece,  before  they  would  suffer  him 
to  quit  their  hospitable  roof  — doubting  it  appeared,  that  he 
would  return,  if  once  let  loose,  on  any  other  terms.  Mr.  Brass, 
struck  with  the  humor  of  this  jest,  and  carrying  out  its  spirit 
to  the  utmost,  sought  from  his  wide  connection  a pair  of  friends 
whose  joint  possessions  fell  some  halfpence  short  of  fifteen 
pence,  and  proffered  them  as  bail  — for  that  was  the  merry 
word  agreed  upon  on  both  sides.  These  gentlemen  being 
rejected  after  twenty-four  hours’  pleasantry,  Mr.  Brass  con- 
sented to  remain,  and  did  remain,  until  a club  of  choice  spirits 
called  a Grand  Jury  (who  were  in  the  joke)  summoned  him  to 
a trial  before  twelve  other  wags  for  perjury  and  fraud,  who  in 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


151 


their  turn  found  him  guilty  with  a most  facetious  joy,  — nay, 
the  very  populace  entered  into  the  whim,  and  when  Mr.  Brass 
was  moving  in  a hackney-coach  towards  the  building  where 
these  wags  assembled,  saluted  him  with  rotten  eggs  and  car- 
casses of  kittens,  and  feigned  to  wish  to  tear  him  into  sheds, 
which  greatly  increased  the  comicality  of  the  thing,  and  made 
him  relish  it  the  more,  no  doubt. 

To  work  this  sportive  vein  still  further,  Mr.  Brass,  by  his 
counsel,  moved  in  arrest  of  judgment  that  he  had  been  led  to 
criminate  himself,  by  assurances  of  safety  and  promises  of 
pardon,  and  claimed  the  leniency  which  the  law  extends  to 
such  confiding  natures  as  are  thus  deluded.  After  solemn 
argument,  this  point  (with  others  of  a technical  nature,  whose 
humorous  extravagance  it  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate) 
was  referred  to  the  judges  for  their  decision,  Sampson  being 
meantime  removed  to  his  former  quarters.  Finally  some  of 
the  points  were  given  in  Sampson’s  favor,  and  some  against 
him ; and  the  upshot  was,  that,  instead  of  being  desired  to 
travel  for  a time  in  foreign  parts,  he  was  permitted  to  grace 
the  mother  country  under  certain  insignificant  restrictions. 

These  were,  that  he  should,  for  a term  of  years,  reside  in  a 
spacious  mansion  where  several  other  gentlemen  were  lodged 
and  boarded  at  the  public  charge,  who  went  clad  in  a sober 
uniform  of  gray  turned  up  with  yellow,  had  their  hair  cut 
extremely  short,  and  chiefly  lived  on  gruel  and  light  soup.  It 
was  also  required  of  him  that  he  should  partake  of  their 
exercise  of  constantly  ascending  an  endless  flight  of  stairs ; 
and,  lest  his  legs,  unused  to  such  exertion,  should  be  weakened 
by  it,  that  he  should  wear  upon  one  ankle  an  amulet  or  charm 
of  iron.  These  conditions  being  arranged,  he  was  removed 
one  evening  to  his  new  abode,  and  enjoyed,  in  common  with 
nine  other  gentlemen,  and  two  ladies,  the  privilege  of  being 
taken  to  his  place  of  retirement  in  one  of  Royalty’s  own 
carriages. 

Over  and  above  these  trifling  penalties,  his  name  was 
erased  and  blotted  out  from  the  roll  of  attorneys ; which 
erasure  has  been  always  held  in  these  latter  times  to  be  a 
great  degradation  and  reproach,  and  to  imply  the  commission 
of  some  amazing  villany  — as  indeed  would  seem  to  be  the 


152 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP. 


case,  when  so  many  worthless  names  remain  among  its  better 
records,  unmolested. 

Of  Sally  Brass,  conflicting  rumors  went  abroad.  Some  said 
with  confidence  that  she  had  gone  down  to  the  docks  in  male 
attire,  and  had  become  a female  sailor ; others  darkly  whis- 
pered that  she  had  enlisted  as  a private  in  the  second  regiment 
of  Foot  Guards,  and  had  been  seen  in  uniform,  and  on  duty, 
to  wit,  leaning  on  her  musket  and  looking  out  of  a sentry-box 
in  St.  James’s  Park,  one  evening.  There  were  many  such 
whispers  as  these  in  circulation ; but  the  truth  appears  to 
be  that,  after  a lapse  of  some  five  years  (during  which  there 
is  no  direct  evidence  of  her  having  been  seen  at  all),  two 
wretched  people  were  more  than  once  observed  to  crawl  at 
dusk  from  the  inmost  recesses  of  St.  Giles’s,  and  to  take  their 
way  along  the  streets,  with  shuffling  steps  and  cowering, 
shivering  forms,  looking  into  the  roads  and  kennels  as  they 
went  in  search  of  refuse  food  or  disregarded  offal.  These 
forms  were  never  beheld  but  in  those  nights  of  cold  and 
gloom,  when  the  terrible  spectres,  who  lie  at  all  other  times 
in  the  obscene  hiding-places  of  London,  in  archways,  dark 
vaults  and  cellars,  venture  to  creep  into  the  streets ; the  em- 
bodied spirits  of  Disease,  and  Vice,  and  Famine.  It  was 
whispered  by  those  who  should  have  known,  that  these  were 
Sampson  and  his  sister  Sally ; and  to  this  day,  it  is  said,  they 
sometimes  pass,  on  bad  nights,  in  the  same  loathsome  guise, 
close  at  the  elbow  of  the  shrinking  passenger. 

The  body  of  Quilp  being  found — though  not  until  some 
days  had  elapsed  — an  inquest  was  held  on  it  near  the  spot 
where  it  had  been  washed  ashore.  The  general  supposition 
was  that  he  had  committed  suicide,  and,  this  appearing  to  be 
favored  by  all  the  circumstances  of  his  death,  the  verdict  was 
to  that  effect.  He  was  left  to  be  buried  with  a stake  through 
his  heart  in  the  centre  of  four  lonely  roads. 

It  was  rumored  afterwards  that  this  horrible  and  barbarous 
ceremony  had  been  dispensed  with,  and  that  the  remains  had 
been  secretly  given  up  to  Tom  Scott.  But  even  here,  opinion 
was  divided ; for  some  said  Tom  had  dug  them  up  at  mid- 
night, and  carried  them  to  a place  indicated  to  him  by  the 
widow.  It  is  probable  that  both  these  stories  may  have  had 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


153 


their  origin  in  the  simple  fact  of  Tom’s  shedding  tears  upon 
the  inquest  — which  he  certainly  did,  extraordinary  as  it  may 
appear.  He  manifested,  besides,  a strong  desire  to  assault 
the  jury;  and  being  restrained  and  conducted  out  of  court, 
darkened  its  only  window  by  standing  on  his  head  upon  the 
sill,  until  he  was  dexterously  tilted  upon  his  feet  again  by  a 
cautious  beadle. 

Being  cast  upon  the  world  by  his  master’s  death,  he  deter- 
mined to  go  through  it  upon  his  head  and  hands,  and  accord- 
ingly began  to  tumble  for  his  bread.  Finding,  however,  his 
English  birth  an  insurmountable  obstacle  to  his  advancement  in 
this  pursuit  (notwithstanding  that  his  art  was  in  high  repute 
and  favor),  he  assumed  the  name  of  an  Italian  image  lad, 
with  whom  he  had  become  acquainted ; and  afterwards  tumbled 
with  extraordinary  success,  and  to  overflowing  audiences. 

Little  Mrs.  Quilp  never  quite  forgave  herself  the  one  de- 
ceit that  lay  so  heavy  on  her  conscience,  and  never  spoke 
or  thought  of  it  but  with  bitter  tears.  Her  husband  had  no 
relations,  and  she  was  rich.  He  had  made  no  will,  or  she 
would  probably  have  been  poor.  Having  married  the  first 
time  at  her  mother’s  instigation,  she  consulted  in  her  second 
choice  nobody  but  herself.  It  fell  upon  a smart  young  fellow 
enough ; and  as  he  made  it  a preliminary  condition  that  Mrs. 
Jiniwin  should  be  thenceforth  an  out-pensioner,  they  lived 
together  after  marriage  with  no  more  than  the  average  amount 
of  quarrelling,  and  led  a merry  life  upon  the  dead  dwarf’s 
money. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Garland,  and  Mr.  Abel,  went  out  as  usual 
(except  that  there  was  a change  in  their  household,  as  will  be 
seen  presently),  and  in  due  time  the  latter  went  into  partner- 
ship with  his  friend  the  Hotary,  on  which  occasion  there  was 
a dinner,  and  a ball,  and  great  extent  of  dissipation.  Unto 
this  ball  there  happened  to  be  invited  the  most  bashful  young 
lady  that  was  ever  seen,  with  whom  Mr.  Abel  happened  to 
fall  in  love.  Hoiv  it  happened,  or  how  they  found  it  out,  or 
which  of  them  first  communicated  the  discovery  to  the  other, 
nobody  knows.  But,  certain  it  is  that  in  course  of  time  they 
were  married ; and  equally  certain  it  is  that  they  were  the 
happiest  of  the  happy ; and  no  less  certain  it  is  that  they 


154 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


deserved  to  be  so.  And  it  is  pleasant  to  write  down  that  they 
reared  a family ; because  any  propagation  of  goodness  and 
benevolence  is  no  small  addition  to  the  aristocracy  of  nature, 
and  no  small  subject  of  rejoicing  for  mankind  at  large. 

The  pony  preserved  his  character  for  independence  and 
principle  down  to  the  last  moment  of  his  life ; which  was  an 
unusually  long  one,  and  caused  him  to  be  looked  upon,  indeed, 
as  the  very  Old  Parr  of  ponies.  He  often  went  to  and  fro 
with  the  little  phaeton  between  Mr.  Garland’s  and  his  son’s, 
and,  as  the  old  people  and  the  young  were  frequently  together, 
had  a stable  of  his  own  at  the  new  establishment,  into  which 
he  would  walk  of  himself  with  surprising  dignity.  He  conde- 
scended to  play  with  the  children)  as  they  grew  old  enough  to 
cultivate  his  friendship,  and  would  run  up  and  down  the  little 
paddock  with  them  like  a dog ; but  though  he  relaxed  so  far, 
and  allowed  them  such  small  freedoms  as  caresses,  or  even  to 
look  at  his  shoes  or  hang  on  by  his  tail,  he  never  permitted 
any  one  among  them  to  mount  his  back  or  drive  him ; thus 
showing  that  even  their  familiarity  must  have  its  limits,  and 
that  there  were  points  between  them  far  too  serious  for  trifling. 

He  was  not  unsusceptible  of  warm  attachments  in  his  later 
life,  for  when  the  good  bachelor  came  to  live  with  Mr.  Garland 
upon  the  clergyman’s  decease,  he  conceived  a great  friendship 
for  him,  and  amiably  submitted  to  be  driven  by  his  hands 
without  the  least  resistance.  He  did  no  work  for  two  or  three 
years  before  he  died,  but  lived  in  clover ; and  his  last  act  (like 
a choleric  old  gentleman)  was  to  kick  his  doctor. 

Mr.  Swiveller,  recovering  very  slowly  from  his  illness,  and 
entering  into  the  receipt  of  his  annuity,  bought  for  the  Mar- 
chioness a handsome  stock  of  clothes,  and  put  her  to  school 
forthwith,  in  redemption  of  the  vow  he  had  made  upon  his 
fevered  bed.  After  casting  about  for  some  time  for  a name 
which  should  be  worthy  of  her,  he  decided  in  favor  of  Sophro- 
nia  Sphynx,  as  being  euphonious  and  genteel,  and  furthermore 
indicative  of  mystery.  Under  this  title  the  Marchioness  re- 
paired, in  tears,  to  the  school  of  his  selection,  from  which,  as 
she  soon  distanced  all  competitors,  she  was  removed  before 
the  lapse  of  many  quarters  to  one  of  a higher  grade.  It  is 
but  bare  justice  to  Mr.  Swiveller  to  say,  that,  although  the 


DANIEL  QUILP  AT  THE  WINDOW 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


155 


expenses  of  her  education  kept  him  in  straitened  circumstances 
for  half  a dozen  years,  he  never  slackened  in  his  zeal,  and 
always  held  himself  sufficiently  repaid  by  the  accounts  he 
heard  (with  great  gravity)  of  her  advancement,  on  his  monthly 
visits  to  the  governess,  who  looked  upon  him  as  a literary 
gentleman  of  eccentric  habits,  and  of  a most  prodigious  talent 
in  quotation. 

In  a word,  Mr.  Swiveller  kept  the  Marchioness  at  this 
establishment  until  she  was,  at  a moderate  guess,  full  nine- 
teen years  of  age  — good-looking,  clever,  and  good-humored  ; 
when  he  began  to  consider  seriously  what  was  to  be  done 
next.  On  one  of  his  periodical  visits,  while  he  was  revolving 
this  question  in  his  mind,  the  Marchioness  came  down  to  him, 
alone,  looking  more  smiling  and  more  fresh  than  ever.  Then, 
it  occurred  to  him,  but  not  for  the  first  time,  that  if  she  would 
marry  him,  how  comfortable  they  might  be  ! So  Richard  asked 
her ; whatever  she  said,  it  wasn’t  No ; and  they  were  married 
in  good  earnest  that  day  week,  which  gave  Mr.  Swiveller  fre- 
quent occasion  to  remark  at  divers  subsequent  periods  that 
there  had  been  a young  lady  saving  up  for  him  after  all. 

A little  cottage  at  Hampstead  being  to  let,  which  had  in  its 
garden  a smoking-box,  the  envy  of  the  civilized  world,  they 
agreed  to  become  its  tenants  ; and,  when  the  honeymoon  was 
over,  entered  upon  its  occupation.  To  this  retreat  Mr.  Chuck- 
ster  repaired  regularly  every  Sunday  to  spend  the  day  — 
usually  beginning  with  breakfast  — and  here  he  was  the  great 
purveyor  of  general  news  and  fashionable  intelligence.  For 
some  years  he  continued  a deadly  foe  to  Kit,  protesting  that 
he  had  a better  opinion  of  him  when  he  was  supposed  to  have 
stolen  the  five-pound  note,  than  when  he  was  shown  to  be  per- 
fectly free  of  the  crime  ; inasmuch  as  his  guilt  would  have  had 
in  it  something  daring  and  bold,  whereas  his  innocence  was 
but  another  proof  of  a sneaking  and  crafty  disposition.  By 
slow  degrees,  however,  he  was  reconciled  to  him  in  the  end ; 
and  even  went  so  far  as  to  honor  him  with  his  patronage,  as 
one  who  had  in  some  measure  reformed,  and  was  therefore  to 
be  forgiven.  But  he  never  forgot  or  pardoned  that  circum- 
stance of  the  shilling ; holding  that  if  he  had  come  back  to  get 
another  he  would  have  done  well  enough,  but  that  his  return- 


156 


THE  OLID  CURIOSITY  SHOP . 


in g to  work  out  the  former  gift  was  a stain  upon  his  moral 
character  which  no  penitence  or  contrition  could  ever  wash 
away. 

Mr.  Swiveller,  having  always  been  in  some  measure  of  a phil- 
osophic and  reflective  turn,  grew  immensely  contemplative,  at 
times,  in  the  smoking-box,  and  was  accustomed  at  such  periods 
to  debate  in  his  own  mind  the  mysterious  question  of  Sophro- 
nia’s parentage.  Sophronia  herelf  supposed  she  was  an  orphan ; 
but  Mr.  Swiveller,  putting  various  slight  circumstances  to- 
gether, often  thought  Miss  Brass  must  know  better  than  that ; 
and,  having  heard  from  his  wife  of  her  strange  interview  with 
Quilp,  entertained  sundry  misgivings  whether  that  person,  in 
his  lifetime,  might  not  also  have  been  able  to  solve  the  riddle, 
had  he  chosen.  These  speculations,  however,  gave  him  no 
uneasiness  : for  Sophronia  was  ever  a most  cheerful,  affection- 
ate, and  provident  wife  to  him ; and  Dick  (excepting  for  an 
occasional  outbreak  with  Mr.  Chuckster,  which  she  had  the 
good  sense  rather  to  encourage  than  oppose)  was  to  her  an 
attached  and  domesticated  husband.  And  they  played  many 
hundred  thousand  games  of  cribbage  together.  And  let  it  be 
added,  to  Dick’s  honor,  that,  though  we  have  called  her  Sophro- 
nia, he  called  her  the  Marchioness  from  first  to  last ; and  that 
upon  every  anniversary  of  the  day  on  which  he  found  her  in 
his  sick  room,  Mr.  Chuckster  came  to  dinner,  and  there  was 
great  glorification. 

The  gamblers,  Isaac  List  and  Jowl,  with  their  trusty  con- 
federate Mr.  James  G-roves  of  unimpeachable  memory,  pursued 
their  course  with  varying  success,  until  the  failure  of  a spirited 
enterprise  in  the  way  of  their  profession,  dispersed  them  in 
different  directions,  and  caused  their  career  to  receive  a sudden 
check  from  the  long  and  strong  arm  of  the  law.  This  defeat 
had  its  origin  in  the  untoward  detection  of  a new  associate 
— young  Frederick  Trent  — who  thus  became  the  unconscious 
instrument  of  their  punishment  and  his  own. 

For  the  young  man  himself,  he  rioted  abroad  for  a brief 
term,  living  by  his  wits  — which  means  by  the  abuses  of  every 
faculty  that  worthily  employed  raises  man  above  the  beasts, 
and  so  degraded,  sinks  him  far  below  them.  It  was  not  long 
before  his  body  was  recognized  by  a stranger,  who  chanced  to 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


157 


visit  that  hospital  in  Paris  where  the  drowned  are  laid  out  to 
be  owned,  despite  the  bruises  and  disfigurements  which  were 
said  to  have  been  occasioned  by  some  previous  scuffle.  But 
the  stranger  kept  his  own  counsel  until  he  returned  home,  and 
it  was  never  claimed  or  cared  for. 

The  young  brother,  or  the  single  gentleman,  for  that  desig- 
nation is  more  familiar,  would  have  drawn  the  poor  schoolmaster 
from  his  lone  retreat,  and  made  him  his  companion  and  friend. 
But  the  humble  village  teacher  was  timid  of  venturing  into 
the  noisy  world,  and  had  become  fond  of  his  dwelling  in 
the  old  churchyard.  Calmly  happy  in  his  school,  and  in  the 
spot,  and  in  the  attachment  of  Her  little  mourner,  he  pursued 
his  quiet  course  in  peace ; and  was,  through  the  righteous 
gratitude  of  his  friend  — let  this  brief  mention  suffice  for  that 
— a poor  schoolmaster  no  more. 

That  friend  — single  gentleman,  or  younger  brother,  which 
you  will  — had  at  his  heart  a heavy  sorrow ; but  it  bred  in 
him  no  misanthropy  or  monastic  gloom.  He  went  forth  into 
the  world,  a lover  of  his  kind.  Por  a long,  long  time,  it  was 
his  chief  delight  to  travel  in  the  steps  of  the  old  man  and  the 
child  (so  far  as  he  could  trace  them  from  her  last  narrative), 
to  halt  where  they  had  halted,  sympathize  where  they  had 
suffered,  and  rejoice  where  they  had  been  made  glad.  Those 
who  had  been  kind  to  them,  did  not  escape  his  search.  The 
sisters  at  the  school  — they  who  were  her  friends,  because 
themselves  so  friendless  — Mrs.  Jarley  of  the  wax-work, 
Codlin,  Short  — he  found  them  all ; and  trust  me,  the  man 
who  fed  the  furnace  fire  was  not  forgotten. 

Kit’s  story  having  got  abroad,  raised  him  up  a host  of 
friends,  and  many  offers  of  provision  for  his  future  life.  He 
had  no  idea  at  first  of  ever  quitting  Mr.  Garland’s  service; 
but,  after  serious  remonstrance  and  advice  from  that  gentle- 
man, began  to  contemplate  the  possibility  of  such  a change 
being  brought  about  in  time.  A good  post  was  procured  for 
him,  with  a rapidity  which  took  away  his  breath,  by  some  of 
the  gentlemen  who  had  believed  him  guilty  of  the  offence  laid 
to  his  charge,  and  who  had  acted  upon  that  belief.  Through 
the  same  kind  agency,  his  mother  was  secured  from  want,  and 
made  quite  happy.  Thus,  as  Kit  often  said,  his  great  mis- 


158 


THE  OLD  CUBIOSITY  SHOP . 


fortune  turned  out  to  be  the  source  of  all  bis  subsequent 
prosperity. 

Did  Kit  live  a single  man  all  bis  days,  or  did  be  marry  ? 
Of  course  he  married,  and  who  should  be  bis  wife,  but 
Barbara  ? And  the  best  of  it  was,  be  married  so  soon  that 
little  Jacob  was  an  uncle,  before  the  calves  of  his  legs,  already 
mentioned  in  this  history,  had  ever  been  encased  in  broadcloth 
pantaloons,  — though  that  was  not  quite  the  best  either,  for  of 
necessity  the  baby  was  an  uncle  too.  The  delight  of  Kit’s 
mother  and  of  Barbara’s  mother  upon  the  great  occasion  is 
past  all  telling ; finding  they  agreed  so  well  on  that,  and  on 
all  other  subjects,  they  took  up  their  abode  together,  and 
were  a most  harmonious  pair  of  friends  from  that  time  forth. 
And  hadn’t  Astley’s  cause  to  bless  itself  for  their  all  going 
together  once  a quarter  — to  the  pit — and  didn’t  Kit’s  mother 
always  say,  when  they  painted  the  outside,  that  Kit’s  last 
treat  had  helped  to  that,  and  wonder  what  the  manager  would 
feel  if  he  but  knew  it  as  they  passed  his  house  ! 

When  Kit  had  children  six  and  seven  years  old,  there  was 
a Barbara  among  them,  and  a pretty  Barbara  she  was.  Kor 
was  there  wanting  an  exact  fac-simile  and  copy  of  little  Jacob 
as  he  appeared  in  those  remote  times  when  they  taught  him 
what  oysters  meant.  Of  course  there  was  an  Abel,  own  god- 
son to  the  Mr.  Garland  of  that  name  ; and  there  was  a Dick, 
whom  Mr.  Swiveller  did  especially  favor.  The  little  group 
would  often  gather  round  him  of  a night  and  beg  him  to  tell 
again  that  story  of  good  Miss  Kell  who  died.  This,  Kit 
would  do  ; and  when’  they  cried  to  hear  it,  wishing  it  longer 
too,  he  would  teach  them  how  she  had  gone  to  Heaven,  as  all 
good  people  did ; and  how,  if  they  were  good  like  her,  they 
might  hope  to  be  there  too,  one  day,  and  to  see  and  know 
her  as  he  had  done  when  he  was  quite  a boy.  Then,  he 
would  relate  to  them  how  needy  he  used  to  be,  and  how  she 
had  taught  him  what  he  was  otherwise  too  poor  to  learn,  and 
how  the  old  man  had  been  used  to  say  “she  always  laughs 
at  Kit ; ” at  which  they  would  brush  away  their  tears,  and 
laugh  themselves  to  think  that  she  had  done  so,  and  be  again 
quite  merry. 

He  sometimes  took  them  to  the  street  where  she  had  lived ; 


THE  OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 


159 


but  new  improvements  bad  altered  it  so  much,  it  was  not  like 
the  same.  The  old  house  had  been  long  ago  pulled  down, 
and  a fine  broad  road  was  in  its  place.  At  first,  he  would 
draw  with  his  stick  a square  upon  the  ground  to  show  them 
where  it  used  to  stand.  But,  he  soon  became  uncertain  of  the 
spot,  and  could  only  say  it  was  thereabouts,  he  thought,  and 
that  these  alterations  were  confusing. 

Such  are  the  changes  which  a few  years  bring  about,  and  so 
do  things  pass  away,  like  a tale  that  is  told ! 


REPRINTED  PIECES. 


VOL.  II  — 11 


Reprinted  Pieces. 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE. 


When  the  wind  is  blowing  and  the  sleet  or  rain  is  driving 
against  the  dark  windows,  I love  to  sit  by  the  fire,  thinking 
of  what  I have  read  in  books  of  voyage  and  travel.  Such 
books  have  had  a strong  fascination  for  my  mind  from  my 
earliest  childhood ; and  I wonder  it  should  have  come  to  pass 
that  I never  have  been  round  the  world,  never  have  been  ship- 
wrecked, ice-environed,  tomahawked,  or  eaten. 

Sitting  on  my  ruddy  hearth  in  the  twilight  of  New  Year’s 
Eve,  I find  incidents  of  travel  rise  around  me  from  all  the 
latitudes  and  longitudes  of  the  globe.  They  observe  no  order 
or  sequence,  but  appear  and  vanish  as  they  will  — “ come  like 
shadows,  so  depart.”  Columbus,  alone  upon  the  sea  with  his 
disaffected  crew,  looks  over  the  waste  of  waters  from  his  high 
station  on  the  poop  of  his  ship,  and  sees  the  first  uncertain 
glimmer  of  the  light,  “ rising  and  falling  with  the  waves,  like 
a torch  in  the  bark  of  some  fisherman,”  which  is  the  shining 
star  of  a new  world.  Bruce  is  caged  in  Abyssinia,  surrounded 
by  the  gory  horrors  which  shall  often  startle  him  out  of  his 
sleep  at  home  jvhen  years  have  passed  away.  Franklin,  come 
to  the  end  of  his  unhappy  overland  journey  — would  that  it 
had  been  his  last!  — lies  perishing  of  hunger  with  his  brave 
companions  : each  emaciated  figure  stretched  upon  its  miser- 
able bed  without  the  power  to  rise : all,  dividing  the  weary 
days  between  their  prayers,  their  remembrances  of  the  dear 
ones  at  home,  and  conversation  on  the  pleasures  of  eating  ; the 
last-named  topic  being  ever  present  to  them,  likewise,  in  their 
dreams.  All  the  African  travellers,  way-worn,  solitary,  and  sad, 

163 


164 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE. 


submit  themselves  again  to  drunken,  murderous,  man-selling 
despots,  of  the  lowest  order  of  humanity ; and  Mungo  Park, 
fainting  under  a tree  and  succored  by  a woman,  gratefully 
remembers  how  his  Good  Samaritan  has  always  come  to  him 
in  woman’s  shape,  the  wide  world  over. 

A shadow  on  the  wall  in  which  my  mind’s  eye  can  discern 
some  traces  of  a rocky  sea-coast,  recalls  to  me  a fearful  story  of 
travel  derived  from  that  unpromising  narrator  of  such  stories, 
a parliamentary  blue-book.  A convict  is  its  chief  figure,  and 
this  man  escapes  with  other  prisoners  from  a penal  settle- 
ment. It  is  an  island,  and  they  seize  a boat,  and  get  to  the 
main  land.  Their  way  is  by  a rugged  and  precipitous  sea- 
shore, and  they  have  no  earthly  hope  of  ultimate  escape,  for 
the  party  of  soldiers  despatched  by  an  easier  course  to  cut 
them  off,  must  inevitably  arrive  at  their  distant  bourne  long 
before  them,  and  retake  them  if  by  any  hazard  they  survive 
the  horrors  of  the  way.  Famine,  as  they  all  must  have  fore- 
seen, besets  them  early  in  their  course.  Some  of  the  party  die 
and  are  eaten ; some  are  murdered  by  the  rest  and  eaten.  This 
one  awful  creature  eats  his  fill,  and  sustains  his  strength,  and 
lives  on  to  be  recaptured  and  taken  back.  The  unrelatable 
experiences  through  which  he  has  passed  have  been  so  tremen- 
dous, that  he  is  not  hanged  as  he  might  be,  but  goes  back  to 
his  old  chained  gang-work.  A little  time,  and  he  tempts  one 
other  prisoner  away,  seizes  another  boat,  and  flies  once  more 
— necessarily  in  the  old  hopeless  direction,  for  he  can  take  no 
other.  He  is  soon  cut  off,  and  met  by  the  pursuing  party,  face 
to  face  upon  the  beach.  He  is  alone.  In  his  former  journey 
he  acquired  an  inappeasable  relish  for  his  dreadful  food.  He 
urged  the  new  man  away,  expressly  to  kill  him  and  eat  him. 
In  the  pockets  on  one  side  of  his  coarse  convid^dress,  are  por- 
tions of  the  man’s  body,  on  which  he  is  regaling ; in  the  pockets 
on  the  other  side  is  an  untouched  store  of  • salted  pork  (stolen 
before  he  left  the  island)  for  which  he  has  no  appetite.  He 
is  taken  back,  and  he  is  hanged.  But  I shall  never  see  that 
sea-beach  on  the  wall  or  in  the  fire,  without  him,  solitary 
monster,  eating  as  he  prowls  along,  while  the  sea  rages  and 
rises  at  him. 

Captain  Bligh  (a  worse  man  to  be  entrusted  with  arbitrary 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE. 


165 


power  there  could  scarcely  be)  is  handed  over  the  side  of  the 
Bounty,  and  turned  adrift  on  the  wide  ocean  in  an  open  boat, 
by  order  of  Fletcher  Christian,  one  of  his  officers,  at  this  very 
minute.  Another  flash  of  my  Are,  and  “ Thursday  October 
Christian,”  five-and-twenty  years  of  age,  son  of  the  dead  and 
gone  Fletcher  by  a savage  mother,  leaps  aboard  His  Majesty’s 
ship  Briton,  hove  to  off:  Pitcairn’s  Island  ; says  his  simple 
grace  before  eating,  in  good  English  ; and  knows  that  a pretty 
little  animal  on  board  is  called  a dog,  because  in  his  childhood 
he  had  heard  of  such  strange  creatures  from  his  father  and 
the  other  mutineers,  grown  gray  under  the  shade  of  the 
Bread-fruit  trees,  speaking  of  their  lost  country  far  away. 

See  the  Halsewell,  East  Indiaman  outward  bound,  driving 
madly  on  a January  night  towards  the  rocks  near  Seacombe, 
on  the  island  of  Purbeck  ! The  captain’s  two  dear  daughters 
are  aboard,  and  five  other  ladies.  The  ship  has  been  driving 
many  hours,  has  seven  feet  water  in  her  hold,  and  her  main- 
mast has  been  cut  away.  The  description  of  her  loss,  familiar 
to  me  from  my  early  boyhood,  seems  to  be  read  aloud  as  she 
rushes  to  her  destiny. 

“ About  two  in  the  morning  of  Friday  the  sixth  of  January, 
the  ship  still  driving,  and  approaching  very  fast  to  the  shore, 
Mr.  Henry  Meriton,  the  second  mate,  went  again  into  the 
cuddy,  where  the  captain  then  was.  Another  conversation 
taking  place,  Captain  Pierce  expressed  extreme  anxiety  for 
the  preservation  of  his  beloved  daughters,  and  earnestly 
asked  the  officer  if  he  could  devise  any  method  of  saving 
them.  On  his  answering  with  great  concern,  that  he  feared 
it  would  be  impossible,  but  that  their  only  chance  would  be 
to  wait  for  morning,  the  captain  lifted  up  his  hands  in  silent 
and  distressful  ejaculation. 

“ At  this  dreadful  moment,  the  ship  struck,  with  such 
violence  as  to  dash  the  heads  of  those  standing  in  the  cuddy 
against  the  deck  above  them,  and  the  shock  was  accompanied 
by  a shriek  of  horror  that  burst  at  one  instant  from  every 
quarter  of  the  ship. 

“ Many  of  the  seamen,  who  had  been  remarkably  inatten- 
tive and  remiss  in  their  duty  during  great  part  of  the  storm, 


166 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE. 


now  poured  upon  deck,  where  no  exertions  of  the  officers 
could  keep  them,  while  their  assistance  might  have  been 
useful.  They  had  actually  skulked  in  their  hammocks,  leav- 
ing the  working  of  the  pumps  and  other  necessary  labors  to 
the  officers  of  the  ship,  and  the  soldiers,  who  had  made 
uncommon  exertions.  Roused  by  a sense  of  their  danger, 
the  same  seamen,  at  this  moment,  in  frantic  exclamations, 
demanded  of  heaven  and  their  fellow-sufferers  that  succor 
which  their  own  efforts  timely  made,  might  possibly  have 
procured. 

“ The  ship  continued  to  beat  on  the  rocks ; and  soon  bilg- 
ing, fell  with  her  broadside  towards  the  shore.  When  she 
struck,  a number  of  the  men  climbed  up  the  ensign-staff,  under 
an  apprehension  of  her  immediately  going  to  pieces. 

“ Mr.  Meriton,  at  this  crisis,  offered  to  these  unhappy  beings 
the  best  advice  which  could  be  given ; he  recommended  that 
all  should  come  to  the  side  of  the  ship  lying  lowest  on  the 
rocks,  and  singly  to  take  the  opportunities  which  might  then 
offer,  of  escaping  to  the  shore. 

“ Having  thus  provided,  to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  for  the 
safety  of  the  desponding  crew,  he  returned  to  the  round-house, 
where,  by  this  time,  all  the  passengers,  and  most  of  the 
officers  had  assembled.  The  latter  were  employed  in  offering 
consolation  to  the  unfortunate  ladies  ; and,  with  unparalleled 
magnanimity,  suffering  their  compassion  for  the  fair  and 
amiable  companions  of  their  misfortunes  to  prevail  over  the 
sense  of  their  own  danger. 

“In  this  charitable  work  of  comfort,  Mr.  Meriton  now 
joined,  by  assurances  of  his  opinion,  that  the  ship  would  hold 
together  till  the  morning,  when  all  would  be  safe.  Captain 
Pierce,  observing  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  loud  in  his 
exclamations  of  terror,  and  frequently  cry  that  the  ship  was 
parting,  cheerfully  bid  him  be  quiet,  remarking  that  though 
the  ship  should  go  to  pieces,  he  would  not,  but  would  be  safe 
enough. 

“ It  is  difficult  to  convey  a correct  idea  of  the  scene  of  this 
deplorable  catastrophe,  without  describing  the  place  where  it 
happened.  The  Halsewell  struck  on  the  rocks  at  a part  of 
the  shore  where  the  cliff  is  of  vast  height,  and  rises  almost 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE . 


167 


perpendicular  from  its  base.  But  at  this  particular  spot,  the 
foot  of  the  cliff  is  excavated  into  a cavern  of  ten  or  twelve 
yards  in  depth,  and  of  breadth  equal  to  the  length  of  a large 
ship.  The  sides  of  the  cavern  are  so  nearly  upright,  as  to  be 
of  extremely  difficult  access ; and  the  bottom  is  strewed  with 
sharp  and  uneven  rocks,  which  seem,  by  some  convulsion  of 
the  earth,  to  have  been  detached  from  its  roof. 

“ The  ship  lay  with  her  broadside  opposite  to  the  mouth  of 
this  cavern,  with  her  whole  length  stretched  almost  from  side 
to  side  of  it.  But  when  she  struck,  it  was  too  dark  for  the 
unfortunate  persons  on  board  to  discover  the  real  magnitude 
of  their  danger,  and  the  extreme  horror  of  such  a situation. 

“In  addition  to  the  company  already  in  the  round-house, 
they  had  admitted  three  black  women  and  two  soldiers’  wives ; 
who,  with  the  husband  of  one  of  them,  had  been  allowed  to 
come  in,  though  the  seamen,  who  had  tumultuously  demanded 
entrance  to  get  the  lights,  had  been  opposed  and  kept  out  by 
Mr.  Rogers  and  Mr.  Brimer,  the  third  and  fifth  mates.  The 
numbers  there  were,  therefore,  now  increased  to  near  fifty. 
Captain  Pierce  sat  on  a chair,  a cot,  or  some  other  movable, 
with  a daughter  on  each  side,  whom  he  alternately  pressed  to 
his  affectionate  breast.  The  rest  of  the  melancholy  assembly 
were  seated  on  the  deck,  which  was  strewed  with  musical 
instruments,  and  the  wreck  of  furniture  and  other  articles. 

“ Here  also  Mr.  Meriton,  after  having  cut  several  wax- 
candles  in  pieces,  and  stuck  them  up  in  various  parts  of  the 
round-house,  and  lighted  up  all  the  glass  lanthorns  he  could 
find,  took  his  seat,  intending  to  await  the  approach  of  dawn ; 
and  then  assist  the  partners  of  his  dangers  to  escape.  But, 
observing  that  the  poor  ladies  appeared  parched  and  ex- 
hausted, he  brought  a basket  of  oranges  and  prevailed  on 
some  of  them  to  refresh  themselves  by  sucking  a little  of  the 
juice.  At  this  time  they  were  all  tolerably  composed,  except 
Miss  Mansel,  who  was  in  hysteric  fits  on  the  floor  of  the  deck 
of  the  round-house. 

“ But  on  Mr.  Meriton’s  return  to  the  company,  he  perceived 
a considerable  alteration  in  the  appearance  of  the  ship ; the 
sides  were  visibly  giving  way ; the  deck  seemed  to  be  lifting, 
and  he  discovered  other  strong  indications  that  she  could  not 


168 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE . 


hold  much  longer  together.  On  this  account,  he  attempted  to 
go  forward  to  look  out,  but  immediately  saw  that  the  ship 
had  separated  in  the  middle,  and  that  the  forepart  having 
changed  its  position,  lay  rather  further  out  towards  the  sea. 
In  such  an  emergency,  when  the  next  moment  might  plunge 
him  into  eternity,  he  determined  to  seize  the  present  oppor- 
tunity, and  follow  the  example  of  the  crew  and  the  soldiers, 
who  were  now  quitting  the  ship  in  numbers,  and  making 
their  way  to  the  shore,  though  quite  ignorant  of  its  nature 
and  description. 

“ Among  other  expedients,  the  ensign-staff  had  been  un- 
shipped, and  attempted  to  be  laid  between  the  ship’s  side  and 
some  of  the  rocks,  but  without  success,  for  it  snapped  asunder 
before  it  reached  them.  However,  by  the  light  of  a lanthorn, 
which  a seaman  handed  through  the  sky-light  of  the  round- 
house to  the  deck,  Mr.  Meriton  discovered  a spar  which  ap- 
peared to  be  laid  from  the  ship’s  side  to  the  rocks,  and  on  this 
spar  he  resolved  to  attempt  his  escape. 

“ Accordingly,  lying  down  upon  it,  he  thrust  himself 
forward ; however,  he  soon  found  that  it  had  no  communi- 
cation with  the  rock;  he  reached  the  end  of  it  and  then 
slipped  off,  receiving  a very  violent  bruise  in  his  fall,  and 
before  he  could  recover  his  legs,  he  was  washed  off  by  the 
surge.  He  now  supported  himself  by  swimming,  until  a 
returning  wave  dashed  him  against  the  back  part  of  the 
cavern.  Here  he  laid  hold  of  a small  projection  in  the  rock, 
but  was  so  much  benumbed  that  he  was  on  the  point  of 
quitting  it,  when  a seaman,  who  had  already  gained  a footing, 
extended  his  hand,  and  assisted  him  until  he  could  secure 
himself  a little  on  the  rock ; from  which  he  clambered  on  a 
shelf  still  higher,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  the  surf. 

“Mr.  Rogers,  the  third  mate,  remained  with  the  captain 
and  the  unfortunate  ladies  and  their  companions  nearly 
twenty  minutes  after  Mr.  Meriton  had  quitted  the  ship. 
Soon  after  the  latter  left  the  round-house,  the  captain  asked 
what  was  become  of  him,  to  which  Mr.  Rogers  replied,  that 
he  was  gone  on  deck  to  see  what  could  be  done.  After  this, 
a heavy  sea  breaking  over  the  ship,  the  ladies  exclaimed, 
*■  Oh  poor  Meriton ! he  is  drowned ! had  he  stayed  with  us 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE. 


169 


lie  would  have  been  safe  ! ? and  they  all,  particularly  Miss 
Mary  Pierce,  expressed  great  concern  at  the  apprehension  of 
his  loss. 

“ The  sea  was  now  breaking  in  at  the  fore-part  of  the  ship, 
and  reached  as  far  as  the  mainmast.  Captain  Pierce  gave 
Mr.  Rogers  a nod,  and  they  took  a lamp  and  went  together 
into  the  stern-gallery,  where,  after  viewing  the  rocks  for  some 
time,  Captain  Pierce  asked  Mr.  Rogers  if  he  thought  there 
was  any  possibility  of  saving  the  girls;  to  which  he  replied, 
he  feared  there  was  none  ; for  they  could  only  discover  the 
black  face  of  the  perpendicular  rock,  and  not  the  cavern 
which  afforded  shelter  to  those  who  escaped.  They  then 
returned  to  the  round-house,  where  Mr.  Rogers  hung  up  the 
lamp,  and  Captain  Pierce  sat  down  between  his  two  daughters. 

“The  sea  continuing  to  break  in  very  fast,  Mr.  Macmanus, 
a midshipman,  and  Mr.  Schutz,  a passenger,  asked  Mr.  Rogers 
what  they  could  do  to  escape.  ‘ Follow  me/  he  replied,  and 
they  all  went  into  the  stern-gallery,  and  from  thence  to  the 
upper-quarter-gallery  on  the  poop.  While  there,  a very  heavy 
sea  fell  on  board,  and  the  round-house  gave  way : Mr.  Rogers 
heard  the  ladies  shriek  at  intervals,  as  if  the  water  reached 
them ; the  noise  of  the  sea  at  other  times  drowning  their 
voices. 

“Mr.  Brimer  had  followed  him  to  the  poop,  where  they 
remained  together  about  five  minutes,  when  on  the  breaking 
of  this  heavy  sea,  they  jointly  seized  a hen-coop.  The  same 
wave  which  proved  fatal  to  some  of  those  below,  carried  him 
and  his  companion  to  the  rock,  on  which  they  were  violently 
dashed  and  miserably  bruised. 

“Here  on  the  rock  were  twenty-seven  men;  but  it  now 
being  low  water,  and  as  they  were  convinced  that  on  the  flow- 
ing of  the  tide  all  must  be  washed  off,  many  attempted  to  get 
to  the  back  or  the  sides  of  the  cavern,  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
returning  sea.  Scarcely  more  than  six,  besides  Mr.  Rogers 
and  Mr.  Brimer,  succeeded. 

“Mr.  Rogers,  on  gaining  this  station,  was  so  nearly  ex- 
hausted, that  had  his  exertions  been  protracted  only  a few 
minutes  longer,  he  must  have  sunk  under  them.  He  was 
now  prevented  from  joining  Mr.  Meriton,  by  at  least  twenty 


170 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE. 


men  between  them,  none  of  whom  could  move,  without  fhe 
imminent  peril  of  his  life. 

“ They  found  that  a very  considerable  number  of  the  crew, 
seamen,  and  soldiers,  and  some  petty  officers,  were  in  the  same 
situation  as  themselves,  though  many  who  had  reached  the 
rocks  below,  perished  in  attempting  to  ascend.  They  could 
yet  discern  some  part  of  the  ship,  and  in  their  dreary  station 
solaced  themselves  with  the  hopes  of  its  remaining  entire 
until  day-break;  for,  in  the  midst  of  their  own  distress,  the 
sufferings  of  the  females  on  board  affected  them  with  the  most 
poignant  anguish;  and  every  sea  that  broke  inspired  them 
with  terror  for  their  safety. 

“But,  alas,  their  apprehensions  were  too  soon  realized! 
Within  a very  few  minutes  of  the  time  that  Mr.  Bogers  gained 
the  rock,  an  universal  shriek,  which  long  vibrated  in  their 
ears,  in  which  the  voice  of  female  distress  was  lamentably 
distinguished,  announced  the  dreadful  catastrophe.  In  a few 
moments  all  was  hushed,  except  the  roaring  of  the  winds  and 
the  dashing  of  the  waves ; the  wreck  was  buried  in  the  deep, 
and  not  an  atom  of  it  was  ever  afterwards  seen.” 

The  most  beautiful  and  affecting  incident  I know,  associated 
with  a shipwreck,  succeeds  this  dismal  story  for  a winter  night. 
The  Grosvenor,  East  Indiaman  homeward  bound,  goes  ashore 
on  the  coast  of  Caffraria.  It  is  resolved  that  the  officers,  pas- 
sengers, and  crew,  in  number  one  hundred  and  thirty-five 
souls,  shall  endeavor  to  penetrate  on  foot,  across  trackless 
deserts,  infested  by  wild  beasts  and  cruel  savages,  to  the 
Dutch  settlements  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  With  this 
forlorn  object  before  them,  they  finally  separated  into  two 
parties  — never  more  to  meet  on  earth. 

There  is  a solitary  child  among  the  passengers — a little  boy 
of  seven  years  old  who  has  no  relation  there ; and  when  the 
first  party  is  moving  away  he  cries  after  some  member  of  it 
who  has  been  kind  to  him.  The  crying  of  a child  might  be 
supposed  to  be  a little  thing  to  men  in  such  great  extremity ; 
but  it  touches  them,  and  he  is  immediately  taken  into  that 
detachment. 

From  which  time  forth,  this  child  is  sublimely  made  a 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE. 


171 


sacred  charge.  He  is  pushed,  on  a little  raft,  across  broad 
rivers,  by  the  swimming  sailors ; they  carry  him  by  turns 
through  the  deep  sand  and  long  grass  (he  patiently  walking 
at  all  other  times);  they  share  with  him  such  putrid  fish  as 
they  find  to  eat ; they  lie  down  and  wait  for  him  when  the 
rough  carpenter,  who  becomes  his  especial  friend,  lags  behind. 
Beset  by  lions  and  tigers,  by  savages,  by  thirst,  by  hunger, 
by  death  in  a crowd  of  ghastly  shapes,  they  never  — 0 Bather 
of  all  mankind,  thy  name  be  blessed  for  it ! — forget  this  child. 
The  captain  stops  exhausted,  and  his  faithful  coxswain  goes 
back  and  is  seen  to  sit  down  by  his  side,  and  neither  of  the 
two  shall  be  any  more  beheld  until  the  great  last  day ; but,  as 
the  rest  go  on  for  their  lives,  they  take  the  child  with  them. 
The  carpenter  dies  of  poisonous  berries  eaten  in  starvation; 
and  the  steward,  succeeding  to  the  command  of  the  party, 
succeeds  to  the  sacred  guardianship  of  the  child. 

God  knows  all  he  does  for  the  poor  baby ; how  he  cheer- 
fully carries  him  in  his  arms  when  he  himself  is  weak  and  ill ; 
how  he  feeds  him  when  he  himself  is  griped  with  want ; how 
he  folds  his  ragged  jacket  round  him,  lays  his  little  worn  face 
with  a woman’s  tenderness  upon  his  sunburnt  breast,  soothes 
him  in  his  sufferings,  sings  to  him  as  he  limps  along,  unmind- 
ful of  his  own  parched  and  bleeding  feet.  Divided  for  a few 
days  from  the  rest,  they  dig  a grave  in  the  sand  and  bury 
their  good  friend  the  cooper  — these  two  companions  alone  in 
the  wilderness  — and  then  the  time  comes  when  they  both  are 
ill  and  beg  their  wretched  partners  in  despair,  reduced  and 
few  in  number  now,  to  wait  by  them  one  day,  They  wait 
by  them  one  day,  they  wait  by  them  two  days.  On  the 
morning  of  the  third,  they  move  very  softly  about,  in  mak- 
ing their  preparations  for  the  resumption  of  their  journey ; 
for,  the  child  is  sleeping  by  the  fire,  and  it  is  agreed  with 
one  consent  that  he  shall  not  be  disturbed  until  the  last 
moment.  The  moment  comes,  the  fire  is  dying  — and  the 
child  is  dead. 

His  faithful  friend,  the  steward,  lingers  but  a little  while 
behind  him.  His  grief  is  great,  he  staggers  on  for  a few  days, 
lies  down  in  the  desert,  and  dies.  But  he  shall  be  re-united 


172 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE. 


in  his  immortal  spirit  — who  can  doubt  it ! — with  the  child, 
where  he  and  the  poor  carpenter  shall  be  raised  up  with  the 
words,  “ Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these, 
ye  have  done  it  unto  Me.” 

As  I recall  the  dispersal  and  disappearance  of  nearly  all  the 
participators  in  this  once  famous  shipwreck  (a  mere  handful 
being  recovered  at  last),  and  the  legends  that  were  long  after- 
wards revived  from  time  to  time  among  the  English  officers  at 
the  Cape,  of  a white  woman  with  an  infant,  said  to  have  been 
seen  weeping  outside  a savage  hut  far  in  the  interior,  who  was 
whisperingly  associated  with  the  remembrance  of  the  missing 
ladies  saved  from  the  wrecked  vessel,  and  who  was  often 
sought  but  never  found,  thoughts  of  another  kind  of  travel 
come  into  my  mind. 

Thoughts  of  a voyager  unexpectedly  summoned  from 
home,  who  travelled  a vast  distance,  and  could  never  return. 
Thoughts  of  this  unhappy  wayfarer  in  the  depths  of  his 
sorrow,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  anguish,  in  the  helplessness 
of  his  self-reproach,  in  the  desperation  of  his  desire  to  set 
right  what  he  had  left  wrong,  and  do  what  he  had  left  un- 
done. 

For,  there  were  many,  many  things  he  had  neglected.  Little 
matters  while  he  was  at  home  and  surrounded  by  them,  but 
things  of  mighty  moment  when  he  was  at  an  immeasurable 
distance.  There  were  many,  many  blessings  that  he  had  inade- 
quately felt,  there  were  many  trivial  injuries  that  he  had  not 
forgiven,  there  was  love  that  he  had  but  poorly  returned,  there 
was  friendship  that  he  had  too  lightly  prized ; there  were  a 
million  kind  words  that  he  might  have  spoken,  a million  kind 
looks  that  he  might  have  given,  uncountable  slight  easy  deeds 
in  which  he  might  have  been  most  truly  great  and  good.  0 
for  a day  (he  would  exclaim),  for  but  one  day  to  make  amends  ! 
But  the  sun  never  shone  upon  that  happy  day,  and  out  of  his 
remote  captivity  he  never  came. 

Why  does  this  traveller’s  fate  obscure,  on  New  Year’s  Eve, 
the  other  histories  of  travellers  with  which  my  mind  was  filled 
but  now,  and  cast  a solemn  shadow  over  me ! Must  I one 
day  make  this  journey  ? Even  so.  Who  shall  say,  that  I 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE . 


173 


may  not  then  be  tortured  by  such  late  regrets : that  I may 
not  then  look  from  my  exile  on  my  empty  place  and  undone 
work  ? I stand  upon  a sea  shore,  where  the  waves  are  years. 
They  break  and  fall,  and  I may  little  heed  them : but,  with 
every  wave  the  sea  is  rising,  and  I know  that  it  will  float  me 
on  this  traveller’s  voyage  at  last. 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WRITER. 


The  amount  of  money  he  annually  diverts  from  wholesome 
and  useful  purposes  in  the  United  Kingdom,  would  be  a set-off 
against  the  Window  Tax.  He  is  one  of  the  most  shameless 
frauds  and  impositions  of  this  time.  In  his  idleness,  his  men- 
dacity, and  the  immeasurable  harm  he  does  to  the  deserv- 
ing, — dirtying  the  stream  of  true  benevolence,  and  muddling 
the  brains  of  foolish  justices,  with  inability  to  distinguish 
between  the  base  coin  of  distress,  and  the  true  currency  we 
have  always  among  us,  — he  is  more  worthy  of  Norfolk  Island 
than  three-fourths  of  the  worst  characters  who  are  sent  there. 
Under  any  rational  system,  he  would  have  been  sent  there 
long  ago. 

I,  the  writer  of  this  paper,  have  been,  for  some  time,  a 
chosen  receiver  of  Begging  Letters.  For  fourteen  years,  my 
house  has  been  made  as  regular  a Receiving  House  for  such 
communications  as  any  one  of  the  great  branch  Post-Offices 
is  for  general  correspondence.  I ought  to  know  something  of 
the  Begging-Letter  Writer.  He  has  besieged  my  door,  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night ; he  has  fought  my  servant ; he 
has  lain  in  ambush  for  me,  going  out  and  coming  in ; he  has 
followed  me  out  of  town  into  the  country ; he  has  appeared  at 
provincial  hotels,  where  I have  been  staying  for  only  a few 
hours  ; he  has  written  to  me  from  immense  distances,  when  I 
have  been  out  of  England.  He  has  fallen  sick ; he  has  died, 
and  been  buried ; he  has  come  to  life  again,  and  again 
departed  from  this  transitory  scene ; he  has  been  his  own  son, 
his  own  mother,  his  own  baby,  his  idiot  brother,  his  uncle, 
his  aunt,  his  aged  grandfather.  He  has  wanted  a great  coat, 
to  go  to  India  in;  a pound  to  set  him  up  in  life  for  ever;  a 
pair  of  boots,  to  take  him  to  the  coast  of  China;  a hat,  to  get 
him  into  a permanent  situation  under  Government.  He  has 

174 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WRITER. 


175 


frequently  been  exactly  seven-and-sixpence  short  of  indepen- 
dence. He  has  had  such  openings  at  Liverpool  — posts  of 
great  trust  and  confidence  in  merchants’  houses,  which  noth- 
ing but  seven-and-sixpence  was  wanting  to  him  to  secure  — 
that  I wonder  he  is  not  Mayor  of  that  flourishing  town  at  the 
present  moment. 

The  natural  phenomena  of  which  he  has  been  the  victim, 
are  of  a most  astounding  nature.  He  has  had  two  children, 
who  have  never  grown  up ; who  have  never  had  anything  to 
cover  them  at  night ; who  have  been  continually  driving  him 
mad,  by  asking  in  vain  for  food ; who  have  never  come  out  of 
fevers  and  measles  (which,  I suppose,  has  accounted  for  his 
fuming  his  letters  with  tobacco  smoke,  as  a disinfectant)  ; who 
have  never  changed  in  the  least  degree,  through  fourteen  long 
revolving  years.  As  to  his  wife,  what  that  suffering  woman 
has  undergone,  nobody  knows.  She  has  always  been  in  an 
interesting  situation  through  the  same  long  period,  and  has 
never  been  confined  yet.  His  devotion  to  her  has  been 
unceasing.  He  has  never  cared  for  himself ; lie  could  have 
perished  — he  would  rather,  in  short  — but  was  it  not  his 
Christian  duty  as  a man,  a husband,  and  a father,  to  write 
begging  letters  when  he  looked  at  her  ? (He  has  usually 
remarked  that  he  would  call  in  the  evening  for  an  answer  to 
this  question.) 

He  has  been  the  sport  of  the  strangest  misfortunes.  What 
his  brother  has  done  to  him  would  have  broken  anybody  else’s 
heart.  His  brother  went  into  business  with  him,  and  ran 
away  with  the  money  ; his  brother  got  him  to  be  security  for 
an  immense  sum,  and  left  him  to  pay  it ; his  brother  would 
have  given  him  employment  to  the  tune  of  hundreds  a-year, 
if  he  would  have  consented  to  write  letters  on  a Sunday ; his 
brother  enunciated  principles  incompatible  with  his  religious 
views,  and  he  could  not  (in  consequence)  permit  his  brother 
to  provide  for  him.  His  landlord  has  never  shown  a spark 
of  human  feeling.  When  he  put  in  that  execution  I don’t 
know,  but  he  has  never  taken  it  out.  The  broker’s  man  has 
grown  gray  in  possession.  They  will  have  to  bury  him  some 
day. 

He  has  been  attached  to  every  conceivable  pursuit.  He  has 


176 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WRITER. 


been  in  the  army,  in  the  navy,  in  the  church,  in  the  law ; 
connected  with  the  press,  the  fine  arts,  public  institutions, 
every  description  and  grade  of  business.  He  has  been  brought 
up  as  a gentleman:  he  has  been  at  every  college  in  Oxford 
and  Cambridge ; he  can  quote  Latin  in  his  letters  (but 
generally  misspells  some  minor  English  word)  ; he  can  tell 
you  what  Shakespeare  says  about  begging,  better  than  you 
know  it.  It  is  to  be  observed,  that  in  the  midst  of  his 
afflictions  he  always  reads  the  newspapers  ; and  rounds  off  his 
appeals  with  some  allusion,  that  may  be  supposed  to  be  in  my 
way,  to  the  popular  subject  of  the  hour. 

His  life  represents  a series  of  inconsistencies.  Sometimes 
he  has  never  written  such  a letter  before.  He  blushes  with 
shame.  That  is  the  first  time ; that  shall  be  the  last.  Don’t 
answer  it,  and  let  it  be  understood  that,  then,  he  will  kill 
himself  quietly.  Sometimes  (and  more  frequently)  he  has 
written  a few  such  letters.  Then  he  encloses  the  answers, 
with  an  intimation  that  they  are  of  inestimable  value  to  him, 
and  a request  that  they  may  be  carefully  returned.  He  is 
fond  of  enclosing  something  — verses,  letters,  pawnbrokers’ 
duplicates,  anything  to  necessitate  an  answer.  He  is  very 
severe  upon  “ the  pampered  minion  of  fortune,”  who  refused 
him  the  half-sovereign  referred  to  in  the  enclosure  number  two 
— but  he  knows  me  better. 

He  writes  in  a variety  of  styles  ; sometimes  in  low  spirits ; 
sometimes  quite  jocosely.  When  he  is  in  low  spirits,  he 
writes  down-hill,  and  repeats  words  — these  little  indications 
being  expressive  of  the  perturbation  of  his  mind.  When  he 
is  more  vivacious,  he  is  frank  with  me ; he  is  quite  the 
agreeable  rattle.  I know  what  human  nature  is,  — who 
better  ? Well ! He  had  a little  money  once,  and  he  ran 
through  it  — as  many  men  have  done  before  him.  He  finds 
his  old  friends  turn  away  from  him  now  — many  men  have 
done  that  before  him,  too  ! Shall  he  tell  me  why  he  writes  to 
me  ? Because  he  has  no  kind  of  claim  upon  me.  He  puts  it 
on  that  ground,  plainly;  and  begs  to  ask  for  the  loan  (as  I 
know  human  nature)  of  two  sovereigns,  to  be  repaid  next 
Tuesday  six  weeks,  before  twelve  at  noon. 

Sometimes,  when  he  is  sure  that  I have  found  him  out, 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WRITER . 177 

and  that  there  is  no  chance  of  money,  he  writes  to  inform  me 
that  I have  got  rid  of  him  at  last.  He  has  enlisted  into  the 
Company’s  service,  and  is  off  directly  — but  he  wants  a cheese. 
He  is  informed  by  the  sergeant  that  it  is  essential  to  his 
prospects  in  the  regiment  that  he  should  take  out  a single- 
Gloucester  cheese,  weighing  from  twelve  to  fifteen  pounds. 
Eight  or  nine  shillings  would  buy  it.  He  does  not  ask  for 
money,  after  what  has  passed;  but  if  he  calls  at  nine  to- 
morrow morning,  may  he  hope  to  find  a cheese  ? And  is  there 
anything  he  can  do  to  show  his  gratitude  in  Bengal  ? 

Once,  he  wrote  me  rather  a special  letter  proposing  relief 
in  kind.  He  had  got  into  a little  trouble  by  leaving  parcels 
of  mud  done  up  in  brown  paper,  at  people’s  houses,  on 
pretence  of  being  a Railway-Porter,  in  which  character  he 
received  carriage  money.  This  sportive  fancy  he  expiated  in 
the  House  of  Correction.  Hot  long  after  his  release,  and  on  a 
Sunday  morning,  he  called  with  a letter  (having  first  dusted 
himself  all  over),  in  which  he  gave  me  to  understand  that, 
being  resolved  to  earn  an  honest  livelihood,  he  had  been 
travelling  about  the  country  with  a cart  of  crockery.  That 
he  had  been  doing  pretty  well,  until  the  day  before,  when  his 
horse  had  dropped  down  dead  near  Chatham,  in  Kent.  That 
this  had  reduced  him  to  the  unpleasant  necessity  of  getting 
into  the  shafts  himself,  and  drawing  the  cart  of  crockery  to 
London  — a somewhat  exhausting  pull  of  thirty  miles.  That 
he  did  not  venture  to  ask  again  for  money ; but  that  if  I would 
have  the  goodness  to  leave  him  out  a donkey , he  would  call  for 
the  animal  before  breakfast ! 

At  another  time,  my  friend  (I  am  describing  actual  ex- 
periences) introduced  himself  as  a literary  gentleman  in  the 
last  extremity  of  distress.  He  had  had  a play  accepted  at  a 
certain  Theatre  — which  was  really  open ; its  representation 
was  delayed  by  the  indisposition  of  a leading  actor  — who  was 
really  ill ; and  he  and  his  were  in  a state  of  absolute  starva- 
tion. If  he  made  his  necessities  known  to  the  Manager  of 
the  Theatre,  he  put  it  to  me  to  say  what  kind  of  treatment 
he  might  expect  ? Well ! we  got  over  that  difficulty  to  our 
mutual  satisfaction.  A little  while  afterwards  he  was  in  some 
other  strait  — I think  Mrs.  Southcote,  his  wife,  was  in  ex- 

VOL.  II — 12 


178 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WRITER. 


tremity  — and  we  adjusted  that  point  too.  A little  while  after- 
wards, he  had  taken  a new  house,  and  was  going  headlong  to 
ruin  for  want  of  a water-butt.  I had  my  misgivings  about 
the  water-butt,  and  did  not  reply  to  that  epistle.  But,  a little 
while  afterwards,  I had  reason  to  feel  penitent  for  my  neglect. 
He  wrote  me  a few  broken-hearted  lines,  informing  me  that 
the  dear  partner  of  his  sorrows  died  in  his  arms  last  night  at 
nine  o’clock ! 

I despatched  a trusty  messenger  to  comfort  the  bereaved 
mourner  and  his  poor  children : but  the  messenger  went  so 
soon,  that  the  play  was  not  ready  to  be  played  out ; my  friend 
was  not  at  home,  and  his  wife  was  in  a most  delightful  state 
of  health.  He  was  taken  up  by  the  Mendicity  Society  (in- 
formally it  afterwards  appeared),  and  I presented  myself  at  a 
London  Police-Office  with  my  testimony  against  him.  The 
Magistrate  was  wonderfully  struck  by  his  educational  acquire- 
ments, deeply  impressed  by  the  excellence  of  his  letters, 
exceedingly  sorry  to  see  a man  of  his  attainments  there,  com- 
plimented him  highly  on  his  powers  of  composition,  and  was 
quite  charmed  to  have  the  agreeable  duty  of  discharging  him. 
A collection  was  made  for  the  “ poor  fellow,”  as  he  was  called 
in  the  reports,  and  I left  the  court  with  a comfortable  sense 
of  being  universally  regarded  as  a sort  of  monster.  Next  day, 
comes  to  me  a friend  of  mine,  the  governor  of  a large  prison, 
“Why  did  you  ever  go  to  the  Police-Office  against  that  man,” 
says  he,  u without  coming  to  me  first  ? I know  all  about  him 
and  his  frauds.  He  lodged  in  the  house  of  one  of  my  warders, 
at  the  very  time  when  he  first  wrote  to  you ; and  then  he  was 
eating  spring-lamb  at  eighteen-pence  a pound,  and  early  as- 
paragus at  I don’t  know  how  much  a bundle  ! ” On  that  very 
same  day,  and  in  that  very  same  hour,  my  injured  gentleman 
wrote  a solemn  address  to  me,  demanding  to  know  what  com- 
pensation I proposed  to  make  him  for  his  having  passed  the 
night  in  a “ loathsome  dungeon.”  And  next  morning,  an  Irish 
gentleman,  a member  of  the  same  fraternity,  who  had  read 
the  case,  and  was  very  well  persuaded  I should  be  chary  of 
going  to  that  Police-Office  again,  positively  refused  to  leave 
my  door  for  less  than  a sovereign,  and,  resolved  to  besiege  me 
into  compliance,  literally  “ sat  down  ” before  it  for  ten  mortal 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WRITER . 


179 


hours.  The  garrison  being  well  provisioned,  I remained 
within  the  walls ; and  he  raised  the  siege  at  midnight,  with  a 
prodigious  alarm  on  the  bell. 

The  Begging-Letter  Writer  often  has  an  extensive  circle  of 
acquaintance.  Whole  pages  of  the  Court  Guide  are  ready  to 
be  references  for  him.  Noblemen  and  gentlemen  write  to  say 
there  never  was  such  a man  for  probity  and  virtue.  They 
have  known  him,  time  out  of  mind,  and  there  is  nothing  they 
wouldn’t  do  for  him.  Somehow,  they  don’t  give  him  that  one 
pound  ten  he  stands  in  need  of ; but  perhaps  it  is  not  enough 
— they  want  to  do  more,  and  his  modesty  will  not  allow  it.  It 
is  to  be  remarked  of  his  trade  that  it  is  a very  fascinating  one. 
He  never  leaves  it ; and  those  who  are  near  to  him  become 
smitten  with  a love  of  it,  too,  and  sooner  or  later  set  up  for 
themselves.  He  employs  a messenger  — man,  woman,  or 
child.  That  messenger  is  certain  ultimately  to  become  an 
independent  Begging-Letter  Writer.  His  sons  and  daughters 
succeed  to  his  calling,  and  write  begging  letters  when  he  is  no 
more.  He  throws  off  the  infection  of  begging-letter  writing, 
like  the  contagion  of  disease.  What  Sydney  Smith  so  happily 
called  “ the  dangerous  luxury  of  dishonesty  ” is  more  tempting, 
and  more  catching,  it  would  seem,  in  this  instance  than  in  any 
other. 

He  always  belongs  to  a Corresponding-Society  of  Begging- 
Letter  Writers.  Any  one  who  will,  may  ascertain  this  fact. 
Give  money  to-day,  in  recognition  of  a begging  letter,  — no 
matter  how  unlike  a common  begging  letter,  — and  for  the 
next  fortnight  you  will  have  a rush  of  such  communications. 
Steadily  refuse  to  give ; and  the  begging  letters  become  Angels’ 
visits,  until  the  Society  is  from  some  cause  or  other  in  a dull 
way  of  business,  and  may  as  well  try  you  as  anybody  else.  It 
is  of  little  use  inquiring  into  the  Begging-Letter  Writer’s  cir- 
cumstances. He  may  be  sometimes  accidentally  found  out,  as 
in  the  case  already  mentioned  (though  that  was  not  the  first 
inquiry  made)  ; but  apparent  misery  is  always  a part  of  his 
trade,  and  real  misery  very  often  is,  in  the  intervals  of  spring- 
lamb  and  early  asparagus.  It  is  naturally  an  incident  of  his 
dissipated  and  dishonest  life. 

That  the  calling  is  a successful  one,  and  that  large  sums  of 


180 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WETTER. 


money  are  gained  by  it,  must  be  evident  to  anybody  who 
reads  the  Police  Reports  of  such  cases.  But,  prosecutions  are 
of  rare  occurrence,  relatively  to  the  extent  to  which  the  trade 
is  carried  on.  The  cause  of  this,  is  to  be  fotmd  (as  no  one 
knows  better  than  the  Begging-Letter  Writer,  for  it  is  a part 
of  his  speculation)  in  the  aversion  people  feel  to  exhibit  them- 
selves as  having  been  imposed  upon,  or  as  having  weakly 
gratified  their  consciences  with  a lazy,  flimsy  substitute  for 
the  noblest  of  all  virtues.  There  is  a man  at  large,  at  the 
moment  when  this  paper  is  preparing  for  the  press  (on  the 
29th  of  April,  1850),  and  never  once  taken  up  yet,  who,  within 
these  twelvemonths,  has  been  probably  the  most  audacious 
and  the  most  successful  swindler  that  even  this  trade  has  ever 
known.  There  has  been  something  singularly  base  in  this 
fellow’s  proceedings : it  has  been  his  business  to  write  to  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  people,  in  the  names  of  persons  of 
high  reputation  and  unblemished  honor,  professing  to  be  in 
distress  — the  general  admiration  and  respect  for  whom,  has 
ensured  a ready  and  generous  reply. 

Now,  in  the  hope  that  the  results  of  the  real  experience  of 
a real  person  may  do  something  more  to  induce  reflection  on 
this  subject  than  any  abstract  treatise  — and  with  a personal 
knowledge  of  the  extent  to  which  the  Begging-LetterTrade 
has  been  carried  on  for  some  time,  and  has  been  for  some  time 
constantly  increasing  — the  writer  of  this  paper  entreats  the 
attention  of  his  readers  to  a few  concluding  words.  His  expe- 
rience is  a type  of  the  experience  of  many ; some  on  a smaller ; 
some  on  an  infinitely  larger  scale.  All  may  judge  of  the  sound- 
ness or  unsoundness  of  his  conclusions  from  it. 

Long  doubtful  of  the  efficacy  of  such  assistance  in  any  case 
whatever,  and  able  to  recall  but  one,  within  his  whole  individ- 
ual knowledge,  in  which  he  had  the  least  after-reason  to  sup- 
pose that  any  good  was  done  by  it,  he  was  led,  last  autumn, 
into  some  serious  considerations.  The  begging  letters  flying 
about  by  every  post,  made  it  perfectly  manifest,  That  a set  of 
lazy  vagabonds  were  interposed  between  the  general  desire  to 
do  something  to  relieve  the  sickness  and  misery  under  which 
the  poor  were  suffering,  and  the  suffering  poor  themselves. 
That  many  who  sought  to  do  some  little  to  repair  the  social 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WRITER. 


181 


wrongs,  inflicted  in  the  way  of  preventive  sickness  and  death 
upon  the  poor,  were  strengthening  those  wrongs,  however 
innocently,  by  wasting  money  on  pestilent  knaves  cumbering 
society.  That  imagination,  — soberly  following  one  of  these 
knaves  into  his  life  of  punishment  in  jail,  and  comparing  it 
with  the  life  of  one  of  these  poor  in  a cholera-stricken  alley, 
or  one  of  the  children  of  one  of  these  poor,  soothed  in  its 
dying  hour  by  the  late  lamented  Mr.  Drouet,  — contemplated 
a grim  farce,  impossible  to  be  presented  very  much  longer 
before  God  or  man.  That  the  crowning  miracle  of  all  the 
miracles  summed  up  in  the  New  Testament,  after  the  miracle 
of  the  blind  seeing,  and  the  lame  walking,  and  the  restora- 
tion of  the  dead  to  life,  was  the  miracle  that  the  poor  had  the 
Gospel  preached  to  them.  That  while  the  poor  were  unnatu- 
rally and  unnecessarily  cut  off  by  the  thousand,  in  the  prema- 
turity of  their  age,  or  in  the  rottenness  of  their  youth  — for 
of  flower  or  blossom  such  youth  has  none  — the  Gospel  was 
vot  preached  to  them,  saving  in  hollow  and  unmeaning  voices. 
That  of  all  wrongs,  this  was  the  first  mighty  wrong  the  Pesti- 
lence warned  us  to  set  right.  And  that  no  Post-Office  Order 
to  any  amount,  given  to  a Begging-Letter  Writer  for  the 
quieting  of  an  uneasy  breast,  would  be  presentable  on  the  Last 
Great  Day  as  anything  towards  it. 

The  poor  never  write  these  letters.  Nothing  could  be  more 
unlike  their  habits.  The  writers  are  public  robbers ; and  we 
who  support  them  are  parties  to  their  depredations.  They 
trade  upon  every  circumstance  within  their  knowledge  that 
affects  us,  public  or  private,  joyful  or  sorrowful;  they  pervert 
the  lessons  of  our  lives ; they  change  what  ought  to  be  our 
strength  and  virtue,  into  weakness,  and  encouragement  of 
vice.  There  is  a plain  remedy,  and  it  is  in  our  own  hands. 
We  must  resolve,  at  any  sacrifice  of  feeling,  to  be  deaf  to  such 
appeals,  and  crush  the  trade. 

There  are  degrees  in  murder.  Life  must  be  held  sacred 
among  us  in  more  ways  than  one  — sacred,  not  merely  from 
the  murderous  weapon,  or  the  subtle  poison,  or  the  cruel  blow, 
but  sacred  from  preventible  diseases,  distortions,  and  pains. 
That  is  the  first  great  end  we  have  to  set  against  this  misera- 
ble imposition.  Physical  life  respected,  moral  life  comes  next. 


182 


THE  BEGGING-LETTER  WRITER. 


What  will  not  content  a Begging-Letter  Writer  for  a week, 
would  educate  a score  of  children  for  a year.  Let  us  give  all 
we  can ; let  us  give  more  than  ever.  Let  us  do  all  we  can ; 
let  us  do  more  than  ever.  But  let  us  give,  and  do,  with  a 
high  purpose ; not  to  endow  the  scum  of  the  earth,  to  its  own 
greater  corruption,  with  the  offals  of  our  duty. 


A CHILD’S  DREAM  OF  A STAR. 


There  was  once  a child,  and  he  strolled  about  a good  deal, 
and  thought  of  a number  of  things.  He  had  a sister,  who  was 
a child  too,  and  his  constant  companion.  These  two  used  to 
wonder  all  day  long.  They  wondered  at  the  beauty  of  the 
flowers  ; they  wondered  at  the  height  and  blueness  of  the  sky ; 
they  wondered  at  the  depth  of  the  bright  water ; they  won- 
dered at  the  goodness  and  the  power  of  God  who  made  the 
lovely  world. 

They  used  to  say  to  one  another,  sometimes,  Supposing  all 
the  children  upon  earth  were  to  die,  would  the  flowers,  and 
the  water,  and  the  sky,  be  sorry  ? They  believed  they 
would  be  sorry.  For,  said  they,  the  buds  are  the  children  of 
the  flowers,  and  the  little  playful  streams  that  gambol  down 
the  hill-sides  are  the  children  of  the  water;  and  the  smallest 
bright  specks  playing  at  hide  and  seek  in  the  sky  all  night, 
must  surely  be  the  children  of  the  stars ; and  they  would 
all  be  grieved  to  see  their  playmates,  the  children  of  men,  no 
more. 

There  was  one  clear  shining  star  that  used  to  come  out  in 
the  sky  before  the  rest,  near  the  church  spire,  above  the 
graves.  It  was  larger  and  more  beautiful,  they  thought,  than 
all  the  others,  and  every  night  they  watched  for  it,  standing 
hand  in  hand  at  a window.  Whoever  saw  it  first,  cried  out, 
“ I see  the  star  ! ” And  often  they  cried  out  both  together, 
knowing  so  well  when  it  would  rise,  and  where.  So  they  grew 
to  be  such  friends  with  it,  that,  before  lying  down  in  their 
beds,  they  always  looked  out  once  again,  to  bid  it  good  night ; 
and  when  they  were  turning  round  to  sleep,  they  used  to  say, 
“ God  bless  the  star  ! ” 

But  while  she  was  still  very  young,  oh  very,  very  young,  the 
sister  drooped,  and  came  to  be  so  weak  that  she  could  no  longer 
stand  in  the  window  at  night ; and  then  the  child  looked  sadly 

183 


184 


A child's  dream  of  a star . 


out  by  himself,  and  when  he  saw  the  star,  turned  round  and 
said  to  the  patient  pale  face  on  the  bed,  “ I see  the  star ! ” 
and  then  a smile  would  come  upon  the  face,  and  a little  weak 
voice  used  to  say,  “ God  bless  my  brother  and  the  star ! ” 

And  so  the  time  came  all  too  soon ! when  the  child  looked 
out  alone,  and  when  there  was  no  face  on  the  bed ; and  when 
there  was  a little  grave  among  the  graves,  not  there  before ; 
and  when  the  star  made  long  rays  down  towards  h-im,  as  he 
saw  it  through  his  tears. 

Now,  these  rays  were  so  bright,  and  they  seemed  to  make 
such  a shining  way  from  earth  to  Heaven,  that  when  the  child 
went  to  his  solitary  bed,  he  dreamed  about  the  star ; and 
dreamed  that,  lying  where  he  was,  he  saw  a train  of  people 
taken  up  that  sparkling  road  by  angels.  And  the  star,  open- 
ing, showed  him  a great  world  of  light,  where  many  more  such 
angels  waited  to  receive  them. 

All  these  angels,  who  were  waiting,  turned  their  beaming 
eyes  upon  the  people  who  were  carried  up  into  the  star  ; and 
some  came  out  from  the  long  rows  in  which  they  stood,  and 
fell  upon  the  people’s  necks,  and  kissed  them  tenderly,  and 
went  away  with  them  down  avenues  of  light,  and  were  so 
happy  in  their  company,  that  lying  in  his  bed  he  wept  for 

joy. 

But,  there  were  many  angels  who  did  not  go  with  them,  and 
among  them  one  he  knew.  The  patient  face  that  once  had 
lain  upon  the  bed  was  glorified  and  radiant,  but  his  heart 
found  out  his  sister  among  all  the  host. 

His  sister’s  angel  lingered  near  the  entrance  of  the  star,  and 
said  to  the  leader  among  those  who  had  brought  the  people 
thither : 

“ Is  my  brother  come  ? ” 

And  he  said  “No.” 

She  was  turning  hopefully  away,  when  the  child  stretched 
out  his  arms,  and  cried  “ 0,  sister,  I am  here ! Take  me ! ” 
and  then  she  turned  her  beaming  eyes  upon  him,  and  it  was 
night ; and  the  star  was  shining  into  the  room,  making  long 
rays  down  towards  him  as  he  saw  it  through  his  tears. 

From  that  hour  forth,  the  child  looked  out  upon  the  star  as 
on  the  home  he  was  to  go  to,  when  his  time  should  come,  and 


A child's  dream  of  a star . 


185 


he  thought  that  he  did  not  belong  to  the  earth  alone,  but  to 
the  star  too,  because  of  his  sister’s  angel  gone  before. 

There  was  a baby  born  to  be  a brother  to  the  child ; and 
while  he  was  so  little  that  he  never  yet  had  spoken  word,  he 
stretched  his  tiny  form  out  on  his  bed,  and  died. 

Again  the  child  dreamed  of  the  opened  star,  and  of  the  com- 
pany of  angels,  and  the  train  of  people,  and  the  rows  of  angels 
with  their  beaming  eyes  all  turned  upon  those  people’s  faces. 
Said  his  sister’s  angel  to  the  leader  : 

“ Is  my  brother  come  ? ” 

And  he  said  “Not  that  one,  but  another.” 

As  the  child  beheld  his  brother’s  angel  in  her  arms,  he  cried, 
“ Oh,  sister,  I am  here ! Take  me  ! ” And  she  turned  and 
smiled  upon  him,  and  the  star  was  shining. 

He  grew  to  be  a young  man,  and  was  busy  at  his  books  when 
an  old  servant  came  to  him  and  said : 

“ Thy  mother  is  no  more.  I bring  her  blessing  on  her  dar- 
ling son ! ” 

Again  at  night  he  saw  the  star,  and  all  that  former  com- 
pany. Said  his  sister’s  angel  to  the  leader : 

“ Is  my  brother  come  ? ” 

And  he  said,  “ Thy  mother  ! ” 

A mighty  cry  of  joy  went  forth  through  all  the  star,  because 
the  mother  was  re-united  to  her  two  children.  And  he  stretched 
out  his  arms  and  cried,  “0,  mother,  sister,  and  brother,  I am 
here  ! Take  me  ! ” And  they  answered  him  “ Not  yet,”  and 
the  star  was  shining. 

He  grew  to  be  a man,  whose  hair  was  turning  gray,  and  he 
was  sitting  in  his  chair  by  the  fireside,  heavy  with  grief,  and 
with  his  face  bedewed  with  tears,  when  the  star  opened  once 
again. 

Said  his  sister’s  angel  to  the  leader,  “ Is  my  brother  come  ? ” 
And  he  said,  “Nay,  but  his  maiden  daughter.” 

And  the  man  who  had  been  the  child  saw  his  daughter, 
newly  lost  to  him,  a celestial  creature  among  those  three,  and 
he  said  “ My  daughter’s  head  is  on  my  sister’s  bosom,  and  her 
arm  is  round  my  mother’s  neck,  and  at  her  feet  there  is  the 
baby  of  old  time,  and  I can  bear  the  parting  from  her,  God  be 
praised ! ” 


186 


A child's  dream  of  a star. 


And  the  star  was  shining. 

Thus  the  child  came  to  be  an  old  man,  and  his  once  smooth 
face  was  wrinkled,  and  his  steps  were  slow  and  feeble,  and 
his  back  was  bent.  And  one  night  as  he  lay  upon  his  bed,  his 
children  standing  round,  he  cried,  as  he  had  cried  so  long  ago : 
“ I see  the  star  ! ” 

They  whispered  one  another,  “ He  is  dying.” 

And  he  said,  “ I am.  My  age  is  falling  from  'me  like  a gar- 
ment, and  I move  towards  the  star  as  a child.  And  0,  my 
Father,  now  I thank  thee  that  it  has  so  often  opened,  to  re- 
ceive those  dear  ones  who  await  me ! ” 

And  the  star  was  shining ; and  it  shines  upon  his  grave. 


OUR  ENGLISH  WATERING-PLACE. 


In  the  Autumn-time  of  the  year,  when  the  great  metrop- 
olis is  so  much  hotter,  so  much  noisier,  so  much  more  dusty 
or  so  much  more  water-carted,  so  much  more  crowded,  so 
much  more  disturbing  and  distracting  in  all  respects,  than 
it  usually  is,  a quiet  sea-beach  becomes  indeed  a blessed  spot. 
Half  awake  and  half  asleep,  this  idle  morning  in  our  sunny 
window  on  the  edge  of  a chalk  cliff  in  the  old-fashioned 
watering-place  to  which  we  are  a faithful  resorter,  we  feel 
a lazy  inclination  to  sketch  its  picture. 

The  place  seems  to  respond.  Sky,  sea,  beach,  and  village, 
lie  as  still  before  us  as  if  they  were  sitting  for  the  picture. 
It  is  dead  low-water.  A ripple  plays  among  the  ripening 
corn  upon  the  cliff,  as  if  it  were  faintly  trying  from  recol- 
lection to  imitate  the  sea ; and  the  world  of  butterflies 
hovering  over  the  crop  of  radish-seed  are  as  restless  in  their 
little  way  as  the  gulls  are  in  their  larger  manner  when  the 
wind  blows.  But  the  ocean  lies  winking  in  the  sunlight 
like  a drowsy  lion  — its  glassy  waters  scarcely  curve  upon 
the  shore  — the  fishing-boats  in  the  tiny  harbor  are  all  stranded 
in  the  mud  — our  two  colliers  (our  watering-place  has  a mari- 
time trade  employing  that  amount  of  shipping)  have  not  an 
inch  of  water  within  a quarter  of  a mile  of  them,  and  turn, 
exhausted,  on  their  sides,  like  faint  fish  of  an  antediluvian 
species.  Rusty  cables  and  chains,  ropes  and  rings,  undermost 
parts  of  posts  and  piles  and  confused  timber-defences  against 
the  waves,  lie  strewn  about,  in  a brown  litter  of  tangled  sea- 
weed and  fallen  cliff  which  looks  as  if  a family  of  giants  had 
been  making  tea  here  for  ages,  and  had  observed  an  untidy 
custom  of  throwing  their  tea-leaves  on  the  shore. 

In  truth  our  watering-place  itself  has  been  left  somewhat 
high  and  dry  by  the  tide  of  years.  Concerned  as  we  are  for 

187 


188 


OUll  ENGLISH  WA  TEE  IN  G—PL  A CE. 


its  honor,  we  must  reluctantly  admit  that  the  time  when  this 
pretty  little  semi-circular  sweep  of  houses  tapering  off  at  the 
end  of  the  wooden  pier  into  a point  in  the  sea,  was  a gay 
place,  and  when  the  lighthouse  overlooking  it  shone  at  day- 
break on  company  dispersing  from  public  balls,  is  but  dimly 
traditional  now.  There  is  a bleak  chamber  in  our  watering- 
place  which  is  yet  called  the  Assembly  “ Rooms/’  and  under- 
stood to  be  available  on  hire  for  balls  or  concerts ; and,  some 
few  seasons  since,  an  ancient  little  gentleman  came  down  and 
stayed  at  the  hotel,  who  said  he  had  danced  there,  in  by-gone 
ages,  with  the  Honorable  Miss  Peepy,  well  known  to  have 
been  the  Beauty  of  her  day  and  the  cruel  occasion  of  innum- 
erable duels.  - But  he  was  so  old  and  shrivelled,  and  so  very 
rheumatic  in  the  legs,  that  it  demanded  more  imagination 
than  our  watering-place  can  usually  muster,  to  believe  him ; 
therefore,  except  the  Master  of  the  “ Rooms  ” (who  to  this 
hour  wears  knee-breeches,  and  who  confirmed  the  statement 
with  tears  in  his  eyes),  nobody  did  believe  in  the  little  lame 
old  gentleman,  or  even  in  the  Honorable  Miss  Peepy,  long 
deceased. 

As  to  subscription  balls  in  the  Assembly  Rooms  of  our 
watering-place  now  red-hot  cannon  balls  are  less  improbable. 
Sometimes,  a misguided  wanderer  of  a Ventriloquist,  or  an 
Infant  Phenomenon,  or  a Juggler,  or  somebody  with  an 
Orrery  that  is  several  stars  behind  the  time,  takes  the  place 
for  a night,  and  issues  bills  with  the  name  of  his  last  town 
lined  out,  and  the  name  of  ours  ignominously  written  in,  but 
you  may  be  sure  this  never  happens  twice  to  the  same  unfor- 
tunate person.  On  such  occasions  the  discolored  old  Billiard 
Table  that  is  seldom  played  at,  (unless  the  ghost  of  the  Hon- 
orable Miss  Peepy  plays  at  pool  with  other  ghosts)  is  pushed 
into  a corner,  and  benches  are  solemnly  constituted  into  front 
seats,  back  seats,  and  reserved  seats  — which  are  much  the 
same  after  you  have  paid  — and  a few  dull  candles  are  lighted 
— wind  permitting  — and  the  performer  and  the  scanty  audi- 
ence play  out  a short  match  which  shall  make  the  other  most 
low-spirited  — which  is  usually  a drawn  game.  After  that, 
the  performer  instantly  departs  with  maledictory  expressions, 
and  is  never  heard  of  more. 


OUB  ENGLISH  WATEBING-PLACE. 


189 


But  the  most  wonderful  feature  of  our  Assembly  Booms  is, 
that  an  annual  sale  of  “ Fancy  and  other  China/’  is  announced 
here  with  mysterious  constancy  and  perseverance.  Where  the 
china  comes  from,  where  it  goes  to,  why  it  is  annually  put 
up  to  auction  when  nobody  ever  thinks  of  bidding  for  it,  how 
it  comes  to  pass  that  it  is  always  the  same  china,  whether  it 
would  not  have  been  cheaper,  with  the  sea  at  hand,  to  have 
thrown  it  away,  say  in  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty,  "are 
standing  enigmas.  Every  year  the  bills  come  out,  every  year 
the  Master  of  the  Booms  gets  into  a little  pulpit  on  a table, 
and  offers  it  for  sale,  every  year  nobody  buys  it,  every  year  it 
is  put  away  somewhere  until  next  year  when  it  appears  again 
as  if  the  whole  thing  were  a new  idea.  We  have  a faint 
remembrance  of  an  unearthly  collection  of  clocks,  purporting 
to  be  the  work  of  Parisian  and  Genevese  artists  — chiefly 
bilious-faced  clocks,  supported  on  sickly  white  crutches,  with 
their  pendulums  dangling  like  lame  legs  — to  which  a similar 
course  of  events  occurred  for  several  years,  until  they  seemed 
to  lapse  away,  of  mere  imbecility. 

Attached  to  our  Assembly  Booms  is  a library.  There  is  a 
wheel  of  fortune  in  it,  but  it  is  rusty  and  dusty,  and  never 
turns.  A large  doll,  with  movable  eyes,  was  put  up  to  be 
raffled  for,  by  five-and-twenty  members  at  two  shillings,  seven 
years  ago  this  autumn,  and  the  list  is  not  full  yet.  We  are 
rather  sanguine,  now,  that  the  raffle  will  come  off  next  year. 
We  think  so,  because  we  only  want  nine  members,  and  should 
only  want  eight,  but  for  number  two  having  grown  up  since 
her  name  was  entered,  and  withdrawn  it  when  she  was  mar- 
ried. Down  the  street,  there  is  a toy-shop  of  considerable 
burden,  in  the  same  condition.  Two  of  the  boys  who  were 
entered  for  that  raffle  have  gone  to  India  in  real  ships,  since ; 
and  one  was  shot,  and  died  in  the  arms  of  his  sister’s  lover, 
by  whom  he  sent  his  last  words  home. 

This  is  the  library  for  the  Minerva  Press.  If  you  want 
that  kind  of  reading,  come  to  our  watering-place.  The  leaves 
of  the  romances,  reduced  to  a condition  very  like  curl-paper, 
are  thickly  studded  with  notes  in  pencil ; sometimes  compli- 
mentary, sometimes  jocose.  Some  of  these  commentators, 
like  commentators  in  a more  extensive  way,  quarrel  with 


190 


OUR  ENGLISH  WATERING-PLACE . 


one  another.  One  young  gentleman  who  sarcastically  writes 
“ 0 ! ! ! ” after  every  sentimental  passage,  is  pursued  through 
his  literary  career  by  another,  who  writes  “ Insulting  Beast ! ” 
Miss  Julia  Mills  has  read  the  whole  collection  of  these  books. 
She  has  left  marginal  notes  on  the  pages,  as  “Is  not  this 
truly  touching?  J.  M.”  “How  thrilling!  J.  M.”  “En- 
tranced here  by  the  Magician’s  potent  spell.  J.  M.”  She  has 
also  italicized  her  favorite  traits  in  the  description  of  the 
hero,  as  “ his  hair,  which  was  dark  and  wavy , clustered  in  rich 
profusion  around  a marble  brow , whose  lofty  paleness’  bespoke 
the  intellect  within.”  It  reminds  her  of  another  hero.  She 
adds,  “How  like  B.  L. ! Can  this  be  mere  coincidence?  J.  M.” 

You  would  hardly  guess  which  is  the  main  street  of  our 
watering-place,  but  you  may  know  it  by  its  being  always 
stopped  up  with  donkey-chaises.  Whenever  you  come  here, 
and  see  harnessed  donkeys  eating  clover  out  of  barrows  drawn 
completely  across  a narrow  thoroughfare,  you  may  be  quite 
sure  you  are  in  our  High  Street.  Our  Police  you  may  know  by 
his  uniform,  likewise  by  his  never  on  any  account  interfering 
with  anybody  — especially  the  tramps  and  vagabonds.  In  our 
fancy  shops  we  have  a capital  collection  of  damaged  goods, 
among  which  the  flies  of  countless  summers  “have  been  roam- 
ing.” We  are  great  in  obsolete  seals,  and  in  faded  pin-cushions, 
and  in  rickety  camp-stools,  and  in  exploded  cutlery,  and  in 
miniature  vessels,  and  in  stunted  little  telescopes,  and  in 
objects  made  of  shells  that  pretend  not  to  be  shells.  Dimin- 
utive spades,  barrows,  and  baskets,  are  our  principal  articles 
of  commerce ; but  even  they  don’t  look  quite  new  somehow. 
They  always  seem  to  have  been  offered  and  refused  somewhere 
else,  before  they  came  down  to  our  watering-place. 

Yet,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  our  watering-place  is  an 
empty  place,  deserted  by  all  visitors  except  a few  staunch 
persons  of  approved  fidelity.  On  the  contrary,  the  chances 
are  that  if  you  came  down  here  in  August  or  September,  you 
wouldn’t  find  a house  to  lay  your  head  in.  As  to  finding 
either  house  or  lodging  of  which  you  could  reduce  the  terms, 
you  could  scarcely  engage  in  a more  hopeless  pursuit.  For 
all  this,  you  are  to  observe  that  every  season  is  the  worst 
season  ever  known,  and  that  the  householding  population  of 


OUR  ENGLISH  WATERING-PLACE. 


191 


our  watering-place  are  ruined  regularly  every  autumn.  They 
are  like  the  farmers,  in  regard  that  it  is  surprising  how  much 
ruin  they  will  bear.  We  have  an  excellent  hotel — capital 
baths,  warm,  cold,  and  shower  — first-rate  bathing-machines  — 
and  as  good  butchers,  bakers,  and  grocers,  as  heart  could 
desire.  They  all  do  business,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  from 
motives  of  philanthropy  — but  it  is  quite  certain  that  they  are 
all  being  ruined.  Their  interest  in  strangers,  and  their  polite- 
ness under  ruin,  bespeak  their  amiable  nature.  You  would 
say  so,  if  you  only  saw  the  baker  helping  a new-comer  to  find 
suitable  apartments. 

So  far  from  being  at  a discount  as  to  company,  we  are  in 
fact  what  would  be  popularly  called  rather  a nobby  place. 
Some  tip-top  “ ISTobbs  ” come  down  occasionally  — even  Dukes 
and  Duchesses.  We  have  known  such  carriages  to  blaze 
among  the  donkey-chaises,  as  made  beholders  wink.  Attend- 
ant on  these  equipages  come  resplendent  creatures  in  plush 
and  powder,  who  are  sure  to  be  stricken  disgusted  with  the 
indifferent  accommodation  of  our  watering-place,  and  who,  of 
an  evening  (particularly  when  it  rains),  may  be  seen  very 
much  out  of  drawing,  in  rooms  far  too  small  for  their  fine 
figures,  looking  discontentedly  out  of  little  back  windows  into 
by-streets.  The  lords  and  ladies  get  on  well  enough  and 
quite  good-humoredly : but  if  you  want  to  see  the  gorgeous 
phenomena  who  wait  upon  them,  at  a perfect  non-plus,  you 
should  come  and  look  at  the  resplendent  creatures  with  little 
back  parlors  for  servants’  halls,  and  turn-up  bedsteads  to  sleep 
in,  at  our  watering-place.  You  have  no  idea  how  they  take  it 
to  heart. 

We  have  a pier  — a queer  old  wooden  pier,  fortunately 
without  the  slightest  pretensions  to  architecture,  and  very 
picturesque  in  consequence.  Boats  are  hauled  up  upon  it, 
ropes  are  coiled  all  over  it;  lobster-pots,  nets,  masts,  oars, 
spars,  sails,  ballast,  and  rickety  capstans,  make  a perfect 
labyrinth  of  it.  For  ever  hovering  about  this  pier,  with  their 
hands  in  their  pockets,  or  leaning  over  the  rough  bulwark  it 
opposes  to  the  sea,  gazing  through  telescopes  which  they  carry 
about  in  the  same  profound  receptacles,  are  the  Boatmen  of 
our  watering-place.  Looking  at  them,  you  would  say  that 


192 


OUR  ENGLISH  WATERING-PLACE. 


surely  these  must  be  the  laziest  boatmen  in  the  world.  They 
lounge  about,  in  obstinate  and  inflexible  pantaloons  that  are 
apparently  made  of  wood,  the  whole  season  through.  Whether 
talking  together  about  the  shipping  in  the  Channel,  or  gruffly 
unbending  over  mugs  of  beer  at  the  public-house,  you  would 
consider  them  the  slowest  of  men.  The  chances  are  a thou- 
sand to  one  that  you  might  stay  here  for  ten  seasons,  and 
never  see  a boatman  in  a hurry.  A certain  expression  about 
his  loose  hands,  when  they  are  not  in  his  pockets,  as  if  he 
were  carrying  a considerable  lump  of  iron  in  each,  without 
any  inconvenience,  suggests  strength,  but  he  never  seems  to 
use  it.  He  has  the  appearance  of  perpetually  strolling  — 
running  is  too  inappropriate  a word  to  be  thought  of  — to 
seed.  The  only  subject  on  which  be  seems  to  feel  any 
approach  to  enthusiasm,  is  pitch.  He  pitches  everything  he 
can  lay  hold  of,  — the  pier,  the  palings,  his  boat,  his  house,  — 
when  there  is  nothing  else  left  he  turns  to  and  even  pitches 
his  hat,  or  his  rough-weather  clothing.  Ho  not  judge  him  by 
deceitful  appearances.  These  are  among  the  bravest  and 
most  skilful  mariners  that  exist.  Let  a gale  arise  and  swell 
into  a storm,  let  a sea  run  that  might  appall  the  stoutest  heart 
that  ever  beat,  let  the  Light-boat  on  these  dangerous  sands 
throw  up  a rocket  in  the  night,  or  let  them  hear  through  the 
angry  roar  the  signal-guns  of  a ship  in  distress,  and  these 
men  spring  up  into  activity  so  dauntless,  so  valiant,  and 
heroic,  that  the  world  cannot  surpass  it.  Cavillers  may 
object  that  they  chiefly  live  upon  the  salvage  of  valuable  car- 
goes. So  they  do,  and  God  knows  it  is  no  great  living  that 
they  get  out  of  the  deadly  risks  they  run.  But  put  that  hope 
of  gain  aside.  Let  these  rough  fellows  be  asked,  in  any 
storm,  who  volunteers  for  the  life-boat  to  save  some  perishing 
souls,  as  poor  and  empty-handed  as  themselves,  whose  lives 
the  perfection  of  human  reason  does  not  rate  at  the  value  of  a 
farthing  each ; and  that  boat  will  be  manned,  as  surely  and  as 
cheerfully,  as  if  a thousand  pounds  were  told  down  on  the 
weather-beaten  pier.  For  this,  and  for  the  recollection  of 
their  comrades  whom  we  have  known,  whom  the  raging  sea 
has  engulfed  before  their  children’s  eyes  in  such  brave  efforts, 
whom  the  secret  sand  has  buried,  we  hold  the  boatmen  of  our 


OUR  ENGLISH  WATERING-PLACE. 


193 


watering-place  in  our  love  and  honor,  and  are  tender  of  the 
fame  they  well  deserve. 

So  many  children  are  brought  down  to  our  watering-place 
that,  when  they  are  not  out  of  doors,  as  they  usually  are  in 
fine  weather,  it  is  wonderful  where  they  are  put : the  whole 
village  seeming  much  too  small  to  hold  them  under  cover.  In 
the  afternoons,  you  see  no  end  of  salt  and  sandy  little  boots 
drying  on  upper  window-sills.  At  bathing-time  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  little  bay  re-echoes  with  every  shrill  variety  of  shriek 
and  splash  — after  which,  if  the  weather  be  at  all  fresh,  the 
sands  teem  with  small  blue  mottled  legs.  The  sands  are  the 
children’s  great  resort.  They  cluster  there,  like  ants : so 
busy  burying  their  particular  friends,  and  making  castles  with 
infinite  labor  which  the  next  tide  overthrows,  that  it  is  curi- 
ous to  consider  how  their  play,  to  the  music  of  the  sea,  fore- 
shadows the  realities  of  their  after  lives. 

It  is  curious,  too,  to  observe  a natural  ease  of  approach  that 
there  seems  to  be  between  the  children  and  the  boatmen. 
They  mutually  make  acquaintance,  and  take  individual  lik- 
ings, without  any  help.  You  will  come  upon  one  of  those 
slow  heavy  fellows  sitting  down  patiently  mending  a little 
ship  for  a mite  of  a boy,  whom  he  could  crush  to  death  by 
throwing  his  lightest  pair  of  trousers  on  him.  You  will  be 
sensible  of  the  oddest  contrast  between  the  smooth  little  creat- 
ure, and  the  rough  man  who  seems  to  be  carved  out  of  hard- 
grained  wood — between  the  delicate  hand  expectantly  held 
out,  and  the  immense  thumb  and  finger  that  can  hardly  feel 
the  rigging  of  thread  they  mend  — between  the  small  voice 
and  the  gruff  growl  — and  yet  there  is  a natural  propriety  in 
the  companionship  : always  to  be  noted  in  confidence  between 
a child  and  a person  who  has  any  merit  of  reality  and  gen- 
uineness : which  is  admirably  pleasant. 

We  have  a preventive  station  at  our  watering-place,  and 
much  the  same  thing  may  be  observed  — in  a lesser  degree, 
because  of  their  official  character  — of  the  coast  blockade ; a 
steady,  trusty,  well-conditioned,  well-conducted  set  of  men, 
with  no  misgiving  about  looking  you  full  in  the  face,  and  with 
a quiet  thorough-going  way  of  passing  along  to  their  duty  at 
night,  carrying  huge  sou-wester  clothing  in  reserve,  that  is 
VOL.  II — 13 


194 


OUTl  ENGLISH  WA TERING-PLACE. 


fraught  with  all  good  prepossession.  They  are  handy  fellows 
— neat  about  their  houses  — industrious  at  gardening  — would 
get  on  with  their  wives,  one  thinks,  in  a desert  island  — and 
people  it,  too,  soon. 

As  to  the  naval  officer  of  the  station,  with  his  hearty  fresh 
face,  and  his  blue  eye  that  has  pierced  all  kinds  of  weather,  it 
warms  our  hearts  when  he  comes  into  church  on  a Sunday 
with  that  bright  mixture  of  blue  coat,  buff  waistcoat,  black 
neckerchief,  and  gold  epaulette,  that  is  associated  in  the 
minds  of  all  Englishmen  with  brave,  unpretending,  cordial, 
national  service.  We  like  to  look  at  him  in  his  Sunday  state  ; 
and  if  we  were  First  Lord  (really  possessing  the  indispensable 
qualification  for  the  office  of  knowing  nothing  whatever  about 
the  sea),  we  would  give  him  a ship  to-morrow. 

We  have  a church,  by  the  by,  of  course  — a hideous  temple 
of  flint,  like  a great  petrified  haystack.  Our  chief  clerical 
dignitary,  who,  to  his  honor,  has  done  much  for  education 
both  in  time  and  money,  and  has  established  excellent  schools, 
is  a sound,  shrewd,  healthy  gentleman,  who  has  got  into  little 
occasional  difficulties  with  the  neighboring  farmers,  but  has 
had  a pestilent  trick  of  being  right.  Under  a new  regulation, 
he  has  yielded  the  church  of  our  watering-place  to  another 
clergyman.  Upon  the  whole  we  get  on  in  church  well.  We 
are  a little  bilious  sometimes,  about  these  days  of  fraterniza- 
tion, and  about  nations  arriving  at  a new  and  more  unpreju- 
diced knowledge  of  each  other  (which  our  Christianity  don’t 
quite  approve),  but  it  soon  goes  off,  and  then  we  get  on  very 
well. 

There  are  two  dissenting  chapels,  besides,  in  our  small 
watering-place ; being  in  about  the  proportion  of  a hundred 
and  twenty  guns  to  a yacht.  But  the  dissension  that  has  torn 
us  lately,  has  not  been  a religious  one.  It  has  arisen  on  the 
novel  question  of  Gas.  Our  watering-place  has  been  con- 
vulsed by  the  agitation,  Gas  or  Ho  Gas.  It  has  never  reasoned 
why  Ho  Gas,  but  there  was  a great  Ho  Gas  party.  Broadsides 
were  printed  and  stuck  about  — a startling  circumstance  in 
our  watering-place.  The  Ho  Gas  party  rested  content  with 
chalking  “ Ho  Gas  ! ” and  “Down  with  Gas  ! ” and  other  such 
angry  war-whoops,  on  the  few  back  gates  and  scraps  of  wall 


OUli  ENGLISH  WA  TEEING-PLACE. 


195 


which  the  limits  of  our  watering-place  afford ; but  the  Gas 
party  printed  and  posted  bills,  wherein  they  took  the  high 
ground  of  proclaiming  against  the  No  Gas  party,  that  it  was 
said  Let  there  be  light  and  there  was  light ; and  that  not  to 
have  light  (that  is  gas  light)  in  our  watering-place,  was  to 
contravene  the  great  decree.  Whether  by  these  thunderbolts 
or  not,  the  No  Gas  party  were  defeated ; and  in  this  present 
season  we  have  had  our  handful  of  shops  illuminated  for  the 
first  time.  Such  of  the  No  Gas  party,  however,  as  have  got 
shops,  remain  in  opposition  and  burn  tallow  — exhibiting  in 
their  windows  the  very  picture  of  the  sulkiness  that  punishes 
itself,  and  a new  illustration  of  the  old  adage  about  cutting  off 
your  nose  to  be  revenged  on  your  face,  in  cutting  off  their  gas 
to  be  revenged  on  their  business. 

Other  population  than  we  have  indicated,  our  watering- 
place  has  none.  There  are  a few  old  used-up  boatmen  who 
creep  about  in  the  sunlight  with  the  help  of  sticks,  and  there 
is  a poor  imbecile  shoemaker  who  wanders  his  lonely  life 
away  among  the  rocks,  as  if  he  were  looking  for  his  reason, — 
which  he  will  never  find.  Sojourners  in  neighboring  water- 
ing-places come  occasionally  in  flys  to  stare  at  us,  and  drive 
away  again  as  if  they  thought  us  very  dull;  Italian  boys 
come,  Punch  comes,  the  Fantoccini  come,  the  Tumblers  come, 
the  Ethiopians  come ; Glee-singers  come  at  night,  and  hum 
and  vibrate  (not  always  melodiously)  under  our  windows. 
But  they  all  go  soon,  and  leave  us  to  ourselves  again.  We 
once  had  a travelling  Circus  and  Wombwell’s  Menagerie  at 
the  same  time.  They  both  know  better  than  ever  to  try  it 
again ; and  the  Menagerie  had  nearly  razed  us  from  the  face 
of  the  earth  in  getting  the  elephant  away — his  caravan  was 
so  large,  and  the  watering-place  so  small.  We  have  a fine 
sea,  wholesome  for  all  people ; profitable  for  the  body,  profit- 
able for  the  mind.  The  poet’s  words  are  sometimes  on  its 
awful  lips : 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 
To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 

But  0 for  the  touch  of  a vanish’d  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a voice  that  is  still ! 


196 


OUR  ENGLISH  WATERING-PLACE . 


Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  0 sea  ! 

But  the  tender  grace  of  a day  that  is  dead 
Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

Yet  it  is  not  always  so,  for  the  speech  of  the  sea  is  various, 
and  wants  not  abundant  resource  of  cheerfulness,  hope,  and 
lusty  encouragement.  And  since  I have  been  idling  at  the 
window  here,  the  tide  has  risen.  The  boats  are  dancing  on 
the  bubbling  water ; the  colliers  are  afloat  again;  the  white- 
bordered  waves  rush  in ; the  children 

Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him 

When  he  comes  back  ; 

the  radiant  sails  are  gliding  past  the  shore,  and  shining  on 
the  far  horizon ; all  the  sea  is  sparkling,  heaving,  swelling  up 
with  life  and  beauty,  this  bright  morning. 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


Haying  earned,  by  many  years  of  fidelity,  the  right  to  be 
sometimes  inconstant  to  our  English  watering-place,  we  have 
dallied  for  two  or  three  seasons  with  a French  watering- 
place  : once  solely  known  to  us  as  a town  with  a very  long 
street,  beginning  with  an  abattoir  and  ending  with  a steam- 
boat, which  it  seemed  our  fate  to  behold  only  at  daybreak  on 
winter  mornings,  when  (in  the  days  before  continental  rail- 
roads), just  sufficiently  awake  to  know  that  we  were  most 
uncomfortably  asleep,  it  was  our  destiny  always  to  clatter 
through  it,  in  the  coupe  of  the  diligence  from  Paris,  with  a 
sea  of  mud  behind  us,  and  a sea  of  tumbling  waves  before. 
In  relation  to  which  latter  monster,  our  mind’s  eye  now 
recalls  a worthy  Frenchman  in  a seal-skin  cap  with  a braided 
hood  over  it,  once  our  travelling  companion  in  the  coupe  afore- 
said, who  waking  up  with  a pale  and  crumpled  visage,  and 
looking  ruefully  out  at  the  grim  row  of  breakers  enjoying 
themselves  fanatically  on  an  instrument  of  torture  called  “the 
Bar,”  inquired  of  us  whether  we  were  ever  sick  at  sea  ? 
Both  to  prepare  his  mind  for  the  abject  creature  we  were 
presently  to  become,  and  also  to  afford  him  consolation,  we 
replied,  “ Sir,  your  servant  is  always  sick  when  it  is  possible 
to  be  so.”  He  returned,  altogether  uncheered  by  the  bright 
example,  “Ah,  Heaven,  but  I am  always  sick,  even  when  it 
is  impossible  to  be  so.” 

The  means  of  communication  between  the  French  capital 
and  our  French  watering-place  are  wholly  changed  since  those 
days  ; but,  the  Channel  remains  unbridged  as  yet,  and  the  old 
floundering  and  knocking  about  go  on  there.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  saving  in  reasonable  (and  therefore  rare)  sea- 
weather,  the  act  of  arrival  at  our  French  watering-place  from 
England  is  difficult  to  be  achieved  with  dignity.  Several  little 

197 


198 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE . 


circumstances  combine  to  render  the  visitor  an  object  of 
humiliation.  In  the  first  place/ the  steamer  no  sooner  touches 
the  port;  than  all  the  passengers  fall  into  captivity:  being 
bordered  by  an  overpowering  force  of  Custom-house  officers; 
and  marched  into  a gloomy  dungeon.  In  the  second  place 
the  road  to  this  dungeon  is  fenced  off  with  ropes  breast-high, 
and  outside  those  ropes  all  the  English  in  the  place  who  have 
lately  been  sea-sick  and  are  now  well;  assemble  in  their  best 
clothes  to  enjoy  the  degradation  of  their  dilapidated  fellow- 
creatures.  “ Oh;  my  gracious ! how  ill  this  one  has  been ! ” 
“ Here’s  a damp  one  coming  next ! ” “ Here’s  a pale  one  ! ” 

“ Oh ! Ain’t  he  green  in  the  face,  this  next  one  ! ” Even  we 
ourself  (not  deficient  in  natural  dignity)  have  a lively  remem- 
brance of  staggering  up  this  detested  lane  one  September  day 
in  a gale  of  wind;  when  we  were  received  like  an  irresistible 
comic  actor,  with  a burst  of  laughter  and  applause,  occasioned 
by  the  extreme  imbecility  of  our  legs. 

We  were  coming  to  the  third  place.  In  the  third  place, 
the  captives,  being  shut  up  in  the  gloomy  dungeon,  are  strained, 
two  or  three  at  a time,  into  an  inner  cell,  to  be  examined  as  to 
passports  ; and  across  the  doorway  of  communication,  stands 
a military  creature  making  a bar  of  his  arm.  Two  ideas  are 
generally  present  to  the  British  mind  during  these  ceremonies  ; 
first,  that  it  is  necessary  to  make  for  the  cell  with  violent 
struggles,  as  if  it  were  a life-boat  and  the  dungeon  a ship 
going  down ; secondly,  that  the  military  creature’s  arm  is  a 
national  affront,  which  the  government  at  home  ought  instantly 
to  “ take  up.”  The  British  mind  and  body  becoming  heated 
by  these  fantasies,  delirious  answers  are  made  to  inquiries,  and 
extravagant  actions  performed.  Thus,  Johnson  persists  in 
giving  Johnson  as  his  baptismal  name,  and  substituting  for 
his  ancestral  designation  the  national  “ Dam  ! ” Neither  can 
he  by  any  means  be  brought  to  recognize  the  distinction  be- 
tween a portmanteau-key  and  a passport,  but  will  obstinately 
persevere  in  tendering  the  one  when  asked  for  the  other. 
This  brings  him  to  the  fourth  place,  in  a state  of  mere  idiocy ; 
and  when  he  is,  in  the  fourth  place,  cast  out  at  a little  door 
into  a howling  wilderness  of  touters,  he  becomes  a lunatic 
with  wild  eyes  and  floating  hair  until  rescued  and  soothed. 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


199 


If  friendless  and  unrescued,  he  is  generally  put  into  a railway 
omnibus  and  taken  to  Paris. 

But,  our  French  watering-place,  when  it  is  once  got  into,  is 
a very  enjoyable  place.  It  has  a varied  and  beautiful  country 
around  it,  and  many  characteristic  and  agreeable  things  within 
it.  To  be  sure,  it  might  have  fewer  bad  smells  and  less  decay- 
ing refuse,  and  it  might  be  better  drained,  and  much  cleaner 
in  many  parts,  and  therefore  infinitely  more  healthy.  Still,  it 
is  a bright,  airy,  pleasant,  cheerful  town ; and  if  you  were  to 
walk  down  either  of  its  three  well-paved  main  streets,  towards 
five  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  delicate  odors  of  cookery 
fill  the  air,  and  its  hotel  windows  (it  is  full  of  hotels)  give 
glimpses  of  long  tables  set  out  for  dinner,  and  made  to  look 
sumptuous  by  the  aid  of  napkins  folded  fan-wise,  you  would 
rightly  judge  it  to  be  an  uncommonly  good  town  to  eat  and 
drink  in. 

We  have  an  old  walled  town,  rich  in  cool  public  wells  of 
water,  on  the  top  of  a hill  within  and  above  the  present 
business-town ; and  if  it  were  some  hundreds  of  miles  further 
from  England,  instead  of  being,  on  a clear  day,  within  sight 
of  the  grass  growing  in  the  crevices  of  the  chalk-cliffs  of 
Dover,  you  would  long  ago  have  been  bored  to  death  about 
that  town.  It  is  more  picturesque  and  quaint  than  half  the 
innocent  places  which  tourists,  following  their  leader  like 
sheep,  have  made  impostors  of.  To  say  nothing  of  its  houses 
with  grave  courtyards,  its  queer  by-corners,  and  its  many- 
windowed  streets  white  and  quiet  in  the  sunlight,  there  is  an 
ancient  belfry  in  it  that  would  have  been  in  all  the  Annuals 
and  Albums,  going  and  gone,  these  hundred  years,  if  it  had 
but  been  more  expensive  to  get  at.  Happily  it  has  escaped 
so  well,  being  only  in  our  French  watering-place,  that  you 
may  like  it  of  your  own  accord  in  a natural  manner,  without 
being  required  to  go  into  convulsions  about  it.  We  regard  it 
as  one  of  the  later  blessings  of  our  life,  that  Bilkins,  the  only 
authority  on  Taste,  never  took  any  notice  that  we  can  find  out, 
of  our  French  watering-place.  Bilkins  never  wrote  about  it, 
never  pointed  at  anything  to  be  seen  in  it,  never  measured 
anything  in  it,  always  left  it  alone.  For  which  relief,  Heaven 


200 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


bless  the  town  and  the  memory  of  the  immortal  Bilkins  like- 
wise ! 

There  is  a charming  walk,  arched  and  shaded  by  trees,  on 
the  old  walls  that  form  the  four  sides  of  this  High  Town, 
whence  you  get  glimpses  of  the  streets  below,  and  changing 
views  of  the  other  town  and  of  the  river,  and  of  the  hills  and 
of  the  sea.  It  is  made  more  agreeable  and  peculiar  by  some 
of  the  solemn  houses  that  are  rooted  in  the  deep  streets  below, 
bursting  into  a fresher  existence  a-top,  and  having  doors  and 
windows,  and  even  gardens,  on  these  ramparts.  A child 
going  in  at  the  courtyard  gate  of  one  of  these  houses,  climb- 
ing up  the  many  stairs,  and  coming  out  at  the  fourth -floor 
window,  might  conceive  himself  another  Jack,  alighting  on 
enchanted  ground  from  another  bean-stalk.  It  is  a place 
wonderfully  populous  in  children ; English  children,  with 
governesses  reading  novels  as  they  walk  down  the  shady  lanes 
of  trees,  or  nursemaids  interchanging  gossip  on  the  seats  ; 
French  children  with  their  smiling  bonnes  in  snow-white  caps, 
and  themselves  — if  little  boys  — in  straw  head-gear  like  bee- 
hives, work-baskets,  and  church  hassocks.  Three  years  ago, 
there  were  three  weazen  old  men,  one  bearing  a frayed  red 
ribbon  in  his  threadbare  button-hole,  always  to  be  found  walk- 
ing together  among  these  children,  before  dinner-time.  If 
they  walked  for  an  appetite,  they  doubtless  lived  en  pension 
— were  contracted  for  — otherwise  their  poverty  would  have 
made  it  a rash  action.  They  were  stooping,  blear-eyed,  dull 
old  men,  slip-shod  and  shabby,  in  long-skirted,  short-waisted 
coats  and  meagre  trousers,  and  yet  with  a ghost  of  gentility 
hovering  in  their  company.  They  spoke  little  to  each  other, 
and  looked  as  if  they  might  have  been  politically  discontented 
if  they  had  had  vitality  enough.  Once,  we  overheard  red- 
ribbon  feebly  complain  to  the  other  two  that  somebody,  or 
something,  was  66  a Bobber  ” ; and  then  they  all  three  set  their 
mouths  so  that  they  would  have  ground  their  teeth  if  they 
had  had  any.  The  ensuing  winter  gathered  red-ribbon  unto 
the  great  company  of  faded  ribbons,  and  next  year  the  remain- 
ing two  were  there  — getting  themselves  entangled  with  hoops 
and  dolls  — familiar  mysteries  to  the  children  — probably  in 
the  eyes  of  most  of  them,  harmless  creatures  who  had  never 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


201 


been  like  children,  and  whom  children  could  never  be  like. 
Another  winter  came,  and  another  old  man  went,  and  so,  this 
present  year,  the  last  of  the  triumvirate  left  off  walking  — it 
was  no  good,  now  — and  sat  by  himself  on  a little  solitary 
bench,  with  the  hoops  and  the  dolls  as  lively  as  ever  all  about 
him. 

In  the  Place  d’Armes  of  this  town,  a little  decayed  market 
is  held,  which  seems  to  slip  through  the  old  gateway,  like 
water,  and  go  rippling  down  the  hill,  to  mingle  with  the  mur- 
muring market  in  the  lower  town,  and  get  lost  in  its  movement 
and  bustle.  It  is  very  agreeable  on  an  idle  summer  morning 
to  pursue  this  market-stream  from  the  hill-top.  It  begins 
dozingly  and  dully,  with  a few  sacks  of  corn;  starts  into  a 
surprising  collection  of  boots  and  shoes ; goes  brawling  down 
the  hill  in  a diversified  channel  of  old  cordage,  old  iron,  old 
crockery,  old  clothes  civil  and  military,  old  rags,  new  cotton 
goods,  flaming  prints  of  saints,  little  looking-glasses,  and  incal- 
culable lengths  of  tape ; dives  into  a back  way,  keeping  out  of 
sight  for  a little  while,  as  streams  will,  or  only  sparkling  for 
a moment  in  the  shape  of  a market  drinking-shop ; and  sud- 
denly re-appears  behind  the  great  church,  shooting  itself  into 
a bright  confusion  of  white-capped  women  and  blue-bloused 
men,  poultry,  vegetables,  fruits,  flowers,  pots,  pans,  praying- 
chairs,  soldiers,  country  butter,  umbrellas  and  other  sunshades, 
girl-porters  waiting  to  be  hired  with  baskets  at  their  backs, 
and  one  weazen  little  old  man  in  a cocked  hat,  wearing  a 
cuirass  of  drinking-glasses  and  carrying  on  his  shoulder  a 
crimson  temple  fluttering  with  flags,  like  a glorified  pavior’s 
rammer  without  the  handle,  who  rings  a little  bell  in  all  parts 
of  the  scene,  and  cries  his  cooling  drink  Hola,  Hola,  Ho-o-o ! 
in  a shrill  cracked  voice  that  somehow  makes  itself  heard, 
above  all  the  chaffering  and  vending  hum.  Early  in  the 
afternoon,  the  whole  course  of  the  stream  is  dry.  The  pray- 
ing-chairs are  put  back  in  the  church,  the  umbrellas  are  folded 
up,  the  unsold  goods  are  carried  away,  the  stalls  and  stands 
disappear,  the  square  is  swept,  the  hackney-coaches  lounge 
there  to  be  hired,  and  on  all  the  country  roads  (if  you  walk 
about,  as  much  as  we  do)  you  will  see  the  peasant  women, 
always  neatly  and  comfortably  dressed,  riding  home,  with  the 


202 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


pleasantest  saddle-furniture  of  clean  milk-pails,  bright  butter- 
kegs,  and  the  like,  on  the  j oiliest  little  donkeys  in  the  world. 

We  have  another  market  in  our  French  watering-place  — 
that  is  to  say,  a few  wooden  hutches  in  the  open  street,  down 
by  the  Port  — devoted  to  fish.  Our  fishing-boats  are  famous 
everywhere ; and  our  fishing  people,  though  they  love  lively 
colors  and  taste  is  neutral  (see  Bilkins),  are  among  the  most 
picturesque  people  we  ever  encountered.  They  have  not  only 
a Quarter  of  their  own  in  the  town  itself,  but  they  occupy 
whole  villages  of  their  own  on  the  neighboring  cliffs.  Their 
churches  and  chapels  are  their  own  ; they  consort  with  one 
another,  they  intermarry  among  themselves,  their  customs 
are  their  own,  and  their  costume  is  their  own  and  never 
changes.  As  soon  as  one  of  their  boys  can  walk,  he  is  pro- 
vided with  a long  bright  red  nightcap ; and  one  of  their  men 
would  as  soon  think  of  going  afloat  without  his  head,  as  with- 
out that  indispensable  appendage  to  it.  Then,  they  wear  the 
noblest  boots,  with  the  hugest  tops  — flapping  and  bulging 
over  anyhow ; above  which,  they  encase  themselves  in  such 
wonderful  overalls  and  petticoat  trousers,  made  to  all  appear- 
ance from  tarry  old  sails,  so  additionally  stiffened  with  pitch 
and  salt,  that  the  wearers  have  a walk  of  their  own,  and  go 
straddling  and  swinging  about,  among  the  boats  and  barrels 
and  nets  and  rigging,  a sight  to  see.  Then,  their  younger 
women,  by  dint  of  going  down  to  the  sea  barefoot,  to  fling 
their  baskets  into  the  boats  as  they  come  in  with  the  tide,  and 
bespeak  the  first  fruits  of  the  haul  with  propitiatory  promises 
to  love  and  marry  that  dear  fisherman  who  shall  fill  that  basket 
like  an  Angel,  have  the  finest  legs  ever  carved  by  Nature  in 
the  brightest  mahogany,  and  they  walk  like  Juno.  Their  eyes, 
too,  are  so  lustrous  that  their  long  gold  ear-rings  turn  dull 
beside  those  brilliant  neighbors ; and  when  they  are  dressed, 
what  with  these  beauties,  and  their  fine  fresh  faces,  and  their 
many  petticoats  — striped  petticoats,  red  petticoats,  blue  pet- 
ticoats, always  clean  and  smart,  and  never  too  long  — and  their 
home-made  stockings,  mulberry-colored,  blue,  brown,  purple, 
lilac  — which  the  older  women,  taking  care  of  the  Dutch-look- 
ing children,  sit  in  all  sorts  of  places  knitting,  knitting,  knit- 
ting, from  morning  to  night  — and  what  with  their  little  saucy 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


203 


bright  blue  jackets,  knitted  too,  and  fitting  close  to  their  hand- 
some figures;  and  what  with  the  natural  grace  with  which 
they  wear  the  commonest  cap,  or  fold  the  commonest  hand- 
kerchief round  their  luxuriant  hair — we  say,  in  a word  and 
out  of  breath,  that  taking  all  these  premises  into  our  consid- 
eration, it  has  never  been  a matter  of  the  least  surprise  to  us 
that  we  have  never  once  met,  in  the  cornfields,  on  the  dusty 
roads,  by  the  breezy  windmills,  on  the  plots  of  short  sweet 
grass  overhanging  the  sea  — anywhere  — a young  fisherman 
and  fisherwoman  of  our  French  watering-place  together,  but 
the  arm  of  that  fisherman  has  invariably  been,  as  a matter  of 
course  and  without  any  absurd  attempt  to  disguise  so  plain  a 
necessity,  round  the  neck  or  waist  of  that  fisherwoman.  And 
we  have  had  no  doubt  whatever,  standing  looking  at  their  up- 
hill streets,  house  rising  above  house,  and  terrace  above  ter- 
race, and  bright  garments  here  and  there  lying  sunning  on 
rough  stone  parapets,  that  the  pleasant  mist  on  all  such  objects, 
caused  by  their  being  seen  through  the  brown  nets  hung  across 
on  poles  to  dry,  is,  in  the  eyes  of  every  true  young  fisherman, 
a mist  of  love  and  beauty,  setting  off  the  goddess  of  his  heart. 

Moreover  it  is  to  be  observed  that  these  are  an  industrious 
people,  and  a domestic  people,  and  an  honest  people.  And 
though  we  are  aware  that  at  the  bidding  of  Bilkins  it  is  our 
duty  to  fall  down  and  worship  the  Neapolitans,  we  make  bold 
very  much  to  prefer  the  fishing  people  of  our  French  water- 
ing place  — especially  since  our  last  visit  to  Naples  within 
these  twelvemonths,  when  we  found  only  four  conditions  of 
men  remaining  in  the  whole  city : to  wit,  lazzaroni,  priests, 
spies,  and  soldiers,  and  all  of  them  beggars ; the  paternal  gov- 
ernment having  banished  all  its  subjects  except  the  rascals. 

But  we  can  never  henceforth  separate  our  French  watering- 
place  from  our  own  landlord  of  two  summers,  M.  Loyal  Devas- 
seur,  citizen  and  town-councillor.  Permit  us  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  presenting  M.  Loyal  Devasseur. 

His  own  family  name  is  simply  Loyal ; but,  as  he  is  mar- 
ried, and  as  in  that  part  of  France  a husband  always  adds  to 
his  own  name  the  family  name  of  his  wife,  he  writes  himself 
Loyal  Devasseur.  He  owns  a compact  little  estate  of  some 
twenty  or  thirty  acres  on  a lofty  hill-side,  and  on  it  he  has 


204  OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 

built  two  country  houses  which  he  lets  furnished.  They  are 
by  many  degrees  the  best  houses  that  are  so  let  near  our 
French  watering-place  ; we  have  had  the  honor  of  living  in 
both,  and  can  testify.  The  entrance-hall  of  the  first  we  in- 
habited, was  ornamented  with  a plan  of  the  estate,  represent- 
ing it  as  about  twice  the  size  of  Ireland  ; insomuch  that  when 
we  were  yet  new  to  the  property  (M.  Loyal  always  speaks  of 
it  as  “ la  propriety  ” ) we  went  three  miles  straight  on  end,  in 
search  of  the  bridge  of  Austerlitz  — which  we  afterwards  found 
to  be  immediately  outside  the  window.  The  Chateau  of  the 
Old  Guard  in  another  part  of  the  grounds,  and,  according  to  the 
plan,  about  two  leagues  from  the  little  dining-room  we  sought 
in  vain  for  a week,  until,  happening  one  evening  to  sit  upon  a 
bench  in  the  forest  (forest  in  the  plan),  a few  yards  from  the 
house-door,  we  observed  at  our  feet,  in  the  ignominious  circum- 
stances of  being  upside  down  and  greenly  rotten,  the  Old 
Guard  himself : that  is  to  say,  the  painted  effigy  of  a member 
of  that  distinguished  corps,  seven  feet  high,  and  in  the  act  of 
carrying  arms,  who  had  had  the  misfortune  to  be  blown  down 
in  the  previous  winter.  It  will  be  perceived  that  M.  Loyal  is 
a staunch  admirer  of  the  great  Napoleon.  He  is  an  old  soldier 
himself  — captain  of  the  National  Guard,  with  a handsome 
gold  vase  on  his  chimney-piece,  presented  to  him  by  his  com- 
pany— and  his  respect  for  the  memory  of  the  illustrious 
general  is  enthusiastic.  Medallions  of  him,  portraits  of  him, 
busts  of  him,  pictures  of  him,  are  thickly  sprinkled  all  over 
the  property.  During  the  first  month  of  our  occupation,  it 
was  our  affliction  to  be  constantly  knocking  down  Napoleon : 
if  we  touched  a shelf  in  a dark  corner,  he  toppled  over  with  a 
crash ; and  every  door  we  opened,  shook  him  to  the  soul. 
Yet  M.  Loyal  is  not  a man  of  mere  castles  in  the  air,  or,  as  he 
would  say,  in  Spain.  He  has  a specially  practical,  contriving, 
clever,  skilful  eye  and  hand.  His  houses  are  delightful.  He 
unites  French  elegance  and  English  comfort,  in  a happy  manner 
quite  his  own.  He  has  an  extraordinary  genius  for  making 
tasteful  little  bedrooms  in  angles  of  his  roofs,  which  an 
Englishman  would  as  soon  think  of  turning  to  any  account,  as 
he  would  think  of  cultivating  the  Desert.  We  have  ourself 
reposed  deliciously  in  an  elegant  chamber  of  M.  Loyal’s  con- 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


205 


struction,  with  our  head  as  nearly  in  the  kitchen  chimney-pot 
as  we  can  conceive  it  likely  for  the  head  of  any  gentleman, 
not  by  profession  a Sweep,  to  be.  And,  into  whatsoever 
strange  nook  M.  Loyal’s  genius  penetrates,  it,  in  that  nook, 
infallibly  constructs  a cupboard  and  a row  of  pegs.  In  either 
of  our  houses,  we  could  have  put  away  the  knapsacks  and 
hung  up  the  hats  of  the  whole  regiment  of  Guides. 

Aforetime,  M.  Loyal  was  a tradesman  in  the  town.  You 
can  transact  business  with  no  present  tradesman  in  the  town, 
and  give  your  card  u chez  M.  Loyal,”  but  a brighter  face  shines 
upon  you  directly.  We  doubt  if  there  is,  ever  was,  or  ever 
will  be,  a man  so  universally  pleasant  in  the  minds  of  people 
as  M.  Loyal  is  in  the  minds  of  the  citizens  of  our  French 
watering-place.  They  rub  their  hands  and  laugh  when  they 
speak  of  him.  Ah,  but  he  is  such  a good  child,  such  a brave 
boy,  such  a generous  spirit,  that  Monsieur  Loyal ! It  is  the 
honest  truth.  M.  Loyal’s  nature  is  the  nature  of  a gentleman. 
He  cultivates  his  ground  with  his  own  hands  (assisted  by  one 
little  laborer,  who  falls  into  a fit  now  and  then) ; and  he  digs 
and  delves  from  morn  to  eve  in  prodigious  perspirations  — 
“ works  always,”  as  he  says  — but,  cover  him  with  dust,  mud, 
weeds,  water,  any  stains  you  will,  you  never  can  cover  the 
gentleman  in  M.  Loyal.  A portly,  upright,  broad-shouldered, 
brown-faced  man,  whose  soldierly  bearing  gives  him  the  ap- 
pearance of  being  taller  than  he  is,  — look  into  the  bright  eye 
of  M.  Loyal,  standing  before  you  in  his  working  blouse  and 
cap,  not  particularly  well  shaved,  and,  it  may  be,  very  earthy, 
and  you  shall  discern  in  M.  Loyal  a gentleman  whose  true 
politeness  is  in  grain,  and  confirmation  of  whose  word  by  his 
bond  you  would  blush  to  think  of.  Hot  without  reason  is  M. 
Loyal  when  he  tells  that  story,  in  his  own  vivacious  way,  of 
his  travelling  to  Fulham,  near  London,  to  buy  all  these  hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  trees  you  now  see  upon  the  Property, 
then  a bare,  bleak  hill ; and  of  his  sojourning  in  Fulham  three 
months;  and  of  his  jovial  evenings  with  the  market-gardeners  ; 
and  of  the  crowning  banquet  before  his  departure,  when  the 
market-gardeners  rose  as  one  man,  clinked  their  glasses  all 
together  (as  the  custom  at  Fulham  is),  and  cried,  “Vive 
Loyal ! ” 


206 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


M.  Loyal  has  an  agreeable  wife,  but  no  family;  and  he 
loves  to  drill  the  children  of  his  tenants,  or  run  races  with 
them,  or  do  anything  with  them,  or  for  them,  that  is  good- 
natured.  He  is  of  a highly  convivial  temperament,  and  his 
hospitality  is  unbounded.  Billet  a soldier  on  him,  and  he  is 
delighted.  Five-and-thirty  soldiers  had  M.  Loyal  billeted  on 
him  this  present  summer,  and  they  all  got  fat  and  red-faced 
in  two  days.  It  became  a legend  among  the  troops  that 
whosoever  got  billeted  on  M.  Loyal  rolled  in  clover ; and  so  it 
fell  out  that  the  fortunate  man  who  drew  the  billet  “ M.  Loyal 
Devasseur  ” always  leaped  into  the  air,  though  in  heavy  march- 
ing order.  M.  Loyal  cannot  bear  to  admit  anything  that  might 
seem  by  any  implication  to  disparage  the  military  profession. 
We  hinted  to  him  once,  that  we  were  conscious  of  a remote 
doubt  arising  in  our  mind,  whether  a sou  a day  for  pocket- 
money,  tobacco,  stockings,  drink,  washing,  and  social  pleasures 
in  general,  left  a very  large  margin  for  a soldier’s  enjoyment. 
Pardon ! said  Monsieur  Loyal,  rather  wincing.  It  was  not  a 
fortune,  but  — a la  bonne  heure  — it  was  better  than  it  used  to 
be ! What,  we  asked  him  on  another  occasion,  were  all  those 
neighboring  peasants,  each  living  with  his  family  in  one 
room,  and  each  having  a soldier  (perhaps  two)  billeted  on 
him  every  other  night,  required  to  provide  for  those  soldiers  ? 
“ Faith  ! ” said  M.  Loyal,  reluctantly  ; “ a bed,  monsieur,  and 
fire  to  cook  with,  and  a candle.  And  they  share  their  supper 
with  those  soldiers.  It  is  not  possible  that  they  could  eat 
alone.”  — “ And  what  allowance  do  they  get  for  this  ? ” said 
we.  Monsieur  Loyal  drew  himself  up  taller,  took  a step 
back,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  and  said,  with  majesty, 
as  speaking  for  himself  and  all  France,  “ Monsieur,  it  is  a 
contribution  to  the  State ! ” 

It  is  never  going  to  rain,  according  to  M.  Loyal.  When  it 
is  impossible  to  deny  that  it  is  now  raining  in  torrents,  he 
says  it  will  be  fine  — charming  — magnificent  — to-morrow. 
It  is  never  hot  on  the  Property,  he  contends.  Likewise  it  is 
never  cold.  The  flowers,  he  says,  come  out,  delighting  to 
grow  there ; it  is  like  Paradise  this  morning ; it  is  like  the 
Garden  of  Eden.  He  is  a little  fanciful  in  his  language ; 
smilingly  observing  of  Madame  Loyal,  when  she  is  absent  at 


OUB  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


207 


vespers,  that  she  is  “gone  to  her  salvation”  — allee  a son 
salut.  He  has  a great  enjoyment  of  tobacco,  but  nothing 
would  induce  him  to  continue  smoking  face  to  face  with  a 
lady.  His  short  black  pipe  immediately  goes  into  his  breast 
pocket,  scorches  his  blouse,  and  nearly  sets  him  on  fire.  In 
the  Town  Council  and  on  occasions  of  ceremony,  he  appears 
in  a full  suit  of  black,  with  a waistcoat  of  magnificent  breadth 
across  the  chest,  and  a shirt-collar  of  fabulous  proportions. 
Good  M.  Loyal.  Under  blouse  or  waistcoat,  he  carries  one  of 
the  gentlest  hearts  that  beat  in  a nation  teeming  with  gentle 
people.  He  has  had  losses,  and  has  been  at  his  best  under 
them.  Hot  only  the  loss  of  his  way  by  night  in  the  Fulham 
times  — when  a bad  subject  of  an  Englishman,  under  pretence 
of  seeing  him  home,  took  him  into  all  the  night  public-houses, 
drank  “ arfanarf  ” in  every  one  at  his  expense,  and  finally 
fled,  leaving  him  shipwrecked  at  Cleefeeway,  which  we  appre- 
hend to  be  Ratcliffe  Highway  — but  heavier  losses  than  that. 
Long  ago,  a family  of  children  and  a mother  were  left  in 
one  of  his  houses,  without  money,  a whole  year.  M.  Loyal  — 
anything  but  as  rich  as  we  wish  he  had  been  — had  not  the 
heart  to  say  “ you  must  go ; ” so  they  stayed  on  and  stayed  on, 
and  paying-tenants  who  would  have  come  in  couldn’t  come  in, 
and  at  last  they  managed  to  get  helped  home  across  the  water, 
and  M.  Loyal  kissed  the  whole  group,  and  said  “Adieu,  my 
poor  infants ! ” and  sat  down  in  their  deserted  salon  and 
smoked  his  pipe  of  peace.  — “'The  rent,  M.  Loyal?”  “Eh! 
well ! The  rent ! ” M.  Loyal  shakes  his  head.  “ Le  bon 
Dieu,”  says  M.  Loyal  presently,  “will  recompense  me,”  and 
he  laughs  and  smokes  his  pipe  of  peace.  May  he  smoke  it 
on  the  Property,  and  not  be  recompensed,  these  fifty  years  ! 

There  are  public  amusements  in  our  French  watering-place, 
or  it  would  not  be  French.  They  are  very  popular,  and  very 
cheap.  The  sea-bathing  — which  may  rank  as  the  most 
favored  daylight  entertainment,  inasmuch  as  the  French  visi- 
tors bathe  all  day  long,  and  seldom  appear  to  think  of  remain- 
ing less  than  an  hour  at  a time  in  the  water  — is  astoundingly 
cheap.  Omnibuses  convey  you,  if  you  please,  from  a con- 
venient part  of  the  town  to  the  beach  and  back  again ; you 
have  a clean  and  comfortable  bathing-machine,  dress,  linen, 


208 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE. 


and  all  appliances;  and  the  charge  for  the  whole  is  half- 
a-franc,  or  fivepence.  On  the  pier,  there  is  usually  a guitar, 
which  seems  presumptuously  enough  to  set  its  tinkling  against 
the  deep  hoarseness  of  the  sea,  and  there  is  always  some  boy 
or  woman  who  sings,  without  any  voice,  little  songs  without 
any  tune : the  strain  we  have  most  frequently  heard^  being  an 
appeal  to  “the  sportsman ” not  to  bag  that  choicest  of* game, 
the  swallow.  For  bathing  purposes,  we  have  also  a subscrip- 
tion establishment  with  an  esplanade,  where  people  lounge 
about  with  telescopes,  and  seem  to  get  a good  deal  of  weari- 
ness for  their  money ; and  we  have  also  an  association  of  indi- 
vidual machine-proprietors  combined  against  this  formidable 
rival.  M.  Feroce,  our  own  particular  friend  in  the  bathing 
line,  is  one  of  these.  How  he  ever  came  by  his  name,  we  can- 
not imagine.  He  is  as  gentle  and  polite  a man  as  M.  Loyal 
Devasseur  himself ; immensely  stout  withal,  and  of  a beaming 
aspect.  M.  Feroce  has  saved  so  many  people  from  drowning, 
and  has  been  decorated  with  so  many  medals  in  consequence, 
that  his  stoutness  seems  a special  dispensation  of  Providence 
to  enable  him  to  wear  them ; if  his  girth  were  the  girth  of  an 
ordinary  man,  he  could  never  hang  them  on,  all  at  once.  It 
is  only  on  very  great  occasions  that  M.  Feroce  displays  his 
shining  honors.  At  other  times  they  lie  by,  with  rolls  of 
manuscript  testifying  to  the  causes  of  their  presentation,  in  a 
huge  glass  case  in  the  red-sofa’ d salon  of  his  private  residence 
on  the  beach,  where  M.  Feroce  also  keeps  his  family  pictures, 
his  portraits  of  himself  as  he  appears  both  in  bathing  life  and 
in  private  life,  his  little  boats  that  rock  by  clockwork,  and  his 
other  ornamental  possessions. 

Then,  we  have  a commodious  and  gay  Theatre  — or  had, 
for  it  is  burned  down  now  — where  the  opera  was  always  pre- 
ceded by  a vaudeville,  in  which  (as  usual)  everybody,  down  to 
the  little  old  man  with  the  large  hat  and  the  little  cane  and 
tassel,  who  always  played  either  my  Uncle  or  my  Papa, 
suddenly  broke  out  of  the  dialogue  into  the  mildest  vocal 
snatches,  to  the  great  perplexity  of  unaccustomed  strangers 
from  Great  Britain,  who  never  could  make  out  when  they 
were  singing  and  when  they  were  talking  - — and  indeed  it  was 
pretty  much  the  same.  But,  the  caterers  in  the  way  of  en- 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE . 


209 


tertainment  to  whom  we  are  most  beholden,  are  the  Society  of 
Welldoing,  who  are  active  all  the  summer,  and  give  the  pro- 
ceeds of  their  good  works  to  the  poor.  Some  of  the  most 
agreeable  fetes  they  contrive,  are  announced  as  “ Dedicated  to 
the  children ; ” and  the  taste  with  which  they  turn  a small  pub- 
lic enclosure  into  an  elegant  garden  beautifully  illuminated, 
and  the  thorough-going  heartiness  and  energy  with  which 
they  personally  direct  the  childish  pleasures,  are  supremely 
delightful.  For  fivepence  a head,  we  have  on  these  occa- 
sions donkey  races  with  English  “Jokeis,”  and  other  rustic 
sports ; lotteries  for  toys ; roundabouts,  dancing  on  the  grass 
to  the  music  of  an  admirable  band,  fire-balloons,  and  fireworks. 
Further,  almost  every  week  all  through  the  summer  — never 
mind,  now,  on  what  day  of  the  week  — there  is  a fete  in  some 
adjoining  village  (called  in  that  part  of  the  country  a Du- 
casse),  where  the  people  — really  the  people — dance  on  the 
green  turf  in  the  open  air,  round  a little  orchestra,  that  seems 
itself  to  dance,  there  is  such  an  airy  motion  of  flags  and 
streamers  all  about  it.  And  we  do  not  suppose  that  between 
the  Torrid  Zone  and  the  North  Pole  there  are  to  be  found 
male  dancers  with  such  astonishingly  loose  legs,  furnished 
with  so  many  joints  in  wrong  places,  utterly  unknown  to 
Professor  Owen,  as  those  who  here  disport  themselves.  Some- 
times, the  fete  appertains  to  a particular  trade ; you  will  see 
among  the  cheerful  young  women  at  the  joint  Ducasse  of  the 
milliners  and  tailors,  a wholesome  knowledge  of  the  art  of  mak- 
ing common  and  cheap  things  uncommon  and  pretty,  by  good 
sense  and  good  taste,  that  is  a practical  lesson  to  any  rank 
of  society  in  a whole  island  we  could  mention.  The  oddest 
feature  of  these  agreeable  scenes  is  the  everlasting  Eound- 
about  (we  preserve  an  English  word  wherever  we  can,  as  we 
are  writing  the  English  language),  on  the  wooden  horses  of 
which  machine  grown-up  people  of  all  ages  are  wound  round 
and  round  with  the  utmost  solemnity,  while  the  proprietor’s 
wife  grinds  an  organ,  capable  of  only  one  tune,  in  the  centre. 

As  to  the  boarding-houses  of  our  French  watering-place, 
they  are  Legion,  and  would  require  a distinct  treatise.  It  is 
not  without  a sentiment  of  national  pride  that  we  believe  them 
to  contain  more  bores  from  the  shores  of  Albion  than  all  the 
VOL.  II — 14 


210 


OUR  FRENCH  WATERING-PLACE . 


clubs  in  London.  As  you  walk  timidly  in  their  neighborhood, 
the  very  neckcloths  and  hats  of  your  elderly  compatriots  cry 
to  you  from  the  stones  of  the  streets,  a We  are  Bores  — avoid 
us  l"  We  have  never  overheard  at  street  corners  such  lunatic 
scraps  of  political  and  social  discussion  as  among  these  dear 
countrymen  of  ours.  They  believe  everything  that  is  im- 
possible and  nothing  that  is  true.  They  carry  rumors,  and 
ask  questions,  and  make  corrections  and  improvements  on  one 
another,  staggering  to  the  human  intellect.  And  they  are 
for  ever  rushing  into  the  English  library,  propounding  such 
incomprehensible  paradoxes  to  the  fair  mistress  of  that  estab- 
lishment, that  we  beg  to  recommend  her  to  her  Majesty’s 
gracious  consideration  as  a fit  object  for  a pension. 

The  English  form  a considerable  part  of  the  population  of 
our  French  watering-place,  and  are  deservedly  addressed  and 
respected  in  many  ways.  Some  of  the  surface-addresses  to 
them  are  odd  enough,  as  when  a laundress  puts  a placard 
outside  her  house  announcing  her  possession  of  that  curious 
British  instrument,  a “ Mingle ; ” or  when  a tavern-keeper 
provides  accommodation  for  the  celebrated  English  game  of 
“Nokemdon.”  But,  to  us,  it  is  not  the  least  pleasant  feature 
of  our  French  watering-place  that  a long  and  constant  fusion 
of  the  two  great  nations  there,  has  taught  each  to  like  the 
other,  and  to  learn  from  the  other,  and  to  rise  superior  to  the 
absurd  prejudices  that  have  lingered  among  the  weak  and 
ignorant  in  both  countries  equally. 

Drumming  and  trumpeting  of  course  go  on  for  ever  in  our 
French  watering-place.  Flag-flying  is  at  a premium,  too ; 
but,  we  cheerfully  avow  that  we  consider  a flag  a very  pretty 
object,  and  that  we  take  such  outward  signs  of  innocent 
liveliness  to  our  heart  of  hearts.  The  people,  in  the  town  and 
in  the  country,  are  a busy  people  who  work  hard ; they  are 
sober,  temperate,  good-humored,  light-hearted,  and  generally 
remarkable  for  their  engaging  manners.  Few  just  men,  not 
immoderately  bilious,  could  see  them  in  their  recreations  with- 
out very  much  respecting  the  character  that  is  so  easily,  so 
harmlessly,  and  so  simply,  pleased. 


BILL-STICKING. 


If  I had  an  enemy  whom  I hated  — which  Heaven  forbid  ! 
— - and  if  I knew  of  something  that  sat  heavy  on  his  conscience, 
I think  I would  introduce  that  something  into  a Posting-Bill, 
and  place  a large  impression  in  the  hands  of  an  active  sticker. 
I can  scarcely  imagine  a more  terrible  revenge.  I should 
haunt  him,  by  this  means,  night  and  day.  I do  not  mean  to 
say  that  I would  publish  his  secret,  in  red  letters  two  feet 
high,  for  all  the  town  to  read : I would  darkly  refer  to  it. 

It  should  be  between  him,  and  me,  and  the  Posting-Bill.  Say, 
for  example,  that,  at  a certain  period  of  his  life,  my  enemy 
had  surreptitiously  possessed  himself  of  a key.  I would  then 
embark  my  capital  in  the  lock  business,  and  conduct  that 
business  on  the  advertising  principle.  In  all  my  placards  and 
advertisements,  I would  throw  up  the  line  Secret  Keys.  Thus, 
if  my  enemy  passed  an  uninhabited  house,  he  would  see  his 
conscience  glaring  down  on  him  from  the  parapets,  and  peeping 
up  at  him  from  the  cellars.  If  he  took  a dead  wall  in  his  walk, 
it  would  be  alive  with  reproaches.  If  he  sought  refuge  in  an 
omnibus,  the  panels  thereof  would  become  Belshazzar’s  palace 
to  him.  If  he  took  boat,  in  a wild  endeavor  to  escape,  he 
would  see  the  fatal  words  lurking  under  the  arches  of  the 
bridges  over  the  Thames.  If  he  walked  the  streets  with  down- 
cast eyes,  he  would  recoil  from  the  very  stones  of  the  pave- 
ment, made  eloquent  by  lamp-black  lithograph.  If  he  drove 
or  rode,  his  way  would  be  blocked  up,  by  enormous  vans, 
each  proclaiming  the  same  words  over  and  over  again  from 
its  whole  extent  of  surface.  Until,  having  gradually  grown 
thinner  and  paler,  and  having  at  last  totally  rejected  food,  he 
would  miserably  perish,  and  I should  be  revenged.  This  con- 
clusion I should,  no  doubt,  celebrate  by  laughing  a hoarse  laugh 
in  three  syllable,  and  folding  my  arms  tight  upon  my  chest 

211 


212 


BILL-STICKING. 


agreeably  to  most  of  the  examples  of  glutted  animosity  that 
I have  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  in  connection  with 
the  Drama  — which,  by  the  by,  as  involving  a good  deal  of 
noise,  appears  to  me  to  be  occasionally  confounded  with  the 
Drummer. 

The  foregoing  reflections  presented  themselves  to  my  mind, 
the  other  day,  as  I contemplated  (being  newly  come  to 
London  from  the  East  Riding  of  Yorkshire,  on  a house-hunt- 
ing expedition  for  next  May),  an  old  warehouse  which  rotting 
paste  and  rotting  paper  had  brought  down  to  the  condition  of 
an  old  cheese.  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  say,  on  the 
most  conscientious  survey,  how  much  of  its  front  was  brick 
and  mortar,  and  how  much  decaying  and  decayed  plaster.  It 
was  so  thickly  encrusted  with  fragments  of  bills,  that  no 
ship’s  keel  after  a long  voyage  could  be  half  so  foul.  All 
traces  of  the  broken  windows  were  billed  out,  the  doors  were 
billed  across,  the  water-spout  was  billed  over.  The  building 
was  shored  up  to  prevent  its  tumbling  into  the  street;  and 
the  very  beams  erected  against  it,  were  less  wood  than  paste 
and  paper,  they  had  been  so  continually  posted  and  reposted. 
The  forlorn  dregs  of  old  posters  so  encumbered  this  wreck, 
that  there  was  no  hold  for  new  posters,  and  the  stickers  had 
abandoned  the  place  in  despair,  except  one  enterprising  man 
who  had  hoisted  the  last  masquerade  to  a clear  spot  near  the 
level  of  the  stack  of  chimneys  where  it  waived  and  drooped 
like  a shattered  flag.  Below  the  rusty  cellar-grating,  crumbled 
remnants  of  old  bills  torn  down,  rotted  away  in  wasting  heaps 
of  fallen  leaves.  Here  and  there,  some  of  the  thick  rind  of 
the  house  had  peeled  off  in  strips,  and  fluttered  heavily  down, 
littering  the  street ; but,  still,  below  these  rents  and  gashes, 
layers  of  decomposing  posters  showed  themselves,  as  if  they 
were  interminable.  I thought  the  building  could  never  even 
be  pulled  down,  but  in  one  adhesive  heap  of  rottenness  and 
poster.  As  to  getting  in  — I don’t  believe  that  if  the  Sleeping 
Beauty  and  her  Court  had  been  so  billed  up,  the  young  Prince 
could  have  done  it. 

Knowing  all  the  posters  that  were  yet  legible,  intimately, 
and  pondering  on  their  ubiquitous  nature,  I was  led  into  the 
reflections  with  which  I began  this  paper,  by  considering 


BILL- STIC  KING. 


213 


what  an  awful  thing  it  would  be,  ever  to  have  wronged  — say 
M.  Jullien  for  exanple — and  to  have  his  avenging  name  in 
characters  of  fire  incessantly  before  my  eyes.  Or  to  have 
injured  Madame  Tussaud,  and  undergo  a similar  retribution. 
Has  any  man  a self-reproacliful  thought  associated  with  pills, 
or  ointment  ? What  an  avenging  spirit  to  that  man  is  Pro- 
fessor Holloway  ! Have  I sinned  in  oil  ? Cabburx  pur- 
sues me.  Have  I a dark  remembrance  associated  with  any 
gentlemanly  garments,  bespoke  or  ready  made  ? Moses  and 
So?*  are  on  my  track.  Did  I ever  aim  a blow  at  a defence- 
less fellow-creature’s  head  ? That  head  eternally  being  meas- 
ured for  a wig,  or  that  worse  head  which  was  bald  before 
it  used  the  balsam,  and  hirsute  afterwards  — enforcing  the 
benevolent  moral,  “ Better  to  be  bald  as  a Dutch-cheese  than 
come  to  this,” — 'Undoes  me.  Have  I no  sore  places  in  my 
mind  which  Mechi  touches  — which  jSTicoll  probes  — which 
no  registered  article  whatever  lacerates  ? Does  no  discordant 
note  within  me  thrill  responsive  to  mysterious  watchwords,  as 
“Bevalenta  Arabica,”  or  “Number  One  St.  Paul’s  Church- 
yard” ? Then  may  I enjoy  life,  and  be  happy. 

Lifting  up  my  eyes,  as  I was  musing  to  this  effect,  I beheld 
advancing  towards  me  (I  was  then  on  Cornhill  near  to  the 
Boyal  Exchange),  a solemn  procession  of  three  advertising 
vans,  of  first-class  dimensions,  each  drawn  by  a very  little 
horse.  As  the  cavalcade  approached,  I was  at  a loss  to 
reconcile  the  careless  deportment  of  the  drivers  of  these 
vehicles,  with  the  terrific  announcements  they  conducted 
through  the  city,  which,  being  a summary  of  the  contents  of 
a Sunday  newspaper,  were  of  the  most  thrilling  kind.  Bob- 
bery, fire,  murder,  and  the  ruin  of  the  united  kingdom  — 
each  discharged  in  a line  by  itself,  like  a separate  broadside 
of  red-hot  shot  — were  among  the  least  of  the  warnings 
addressed  to  an  unthinking  people.  Yet,  the  Ministers  of 
Fate  who  drove  the  awful  cars,  leaned  forward  with  their 
arms  upon  their  knees  in  a state  of  extreme  lassitude,  for 
want  of  any  subject  of  interest.  The  first  man,  whose  hair 
I might  naturally  have  expected  to  see  standing  on  end, 
scratched  his  head  — one  of  the  smoothest  I ever  beheld 


214 


BILL-STICKING . 


— with  profound  indifference.  The  second  whistled.  The 
third  yawned. 

Pausing  to  dwell  upon  this  apathy,  it  appeared  to  me,  as 
the  fatal  cars  came  by  me,  that  I descried  in  the  second  car, 
through  the  portal  in  which  the  charioteer  was  seated,  a figure 
stretched  upon  the  floor.  At  the  same  time,  I thought  I 
smelt  tobacco.  The  latter  impression  passed  quickly  from  me ; 
the  former  remained.  Curious  to  know  whether  this  prostrate 
figure  was  the  one  impressible  man  of  the  whole  capital  who 
had  been  stricken  insensible  by  the  terrors  revealed  to  him, 
and  whose  form  had  been  placed  in  the  car  by  the  charioteer, 
from  motives  of  humanity,  I followed  the  procession.  It 
turned  into  Leadenhall-market,  and  halted  at  a public-house. 
Each  driver  dismounted.  I then  distinctly  heard,  proceeding 
from  the  second  car,  where  I had  dimly  seen  the  prostrate 
form,  the  words : 

“ And  a pipe  ! ” 

The  driver  entering  the  public-house  with  his  fellows,  appar- 
ently for  purposes  of  refreshment,  I could  not  refrain  from 
mounting  on  the  shaft  of  the  second  vehicle,  and  looking  in  at 
the  portal.  I then  beheld,  reclining  on  his  back  upon  the  floor, 
on  a kind  of  mattress  or  divan,  a little  man  in  a shooting-coat. 
The  exclamation  “ Dear  me ! ” which  irresistibly  escaped  my 
lips,  caused  him  to  sit  upright,  and  survey  me.  I found  him 
to  be  a good-looking  little  man  of  about  fifty,  with  a shining 
face,  a tight  head,  a bright  eye,  a moist  wink,  a quick  speech, 
and  a ready  air.  He  had  something  of  a sporting  way  with 
him. 

He  looked  at  me,  and  I looked  at  him,  until  the  driver  dis- 
placed me  by  handing  in  a pint  of  beer,  a pipe,  and  what  I 
understand  is  called  “a  screw”  of  tobacco  — an  object  which 
has  the  appearance  of  a curl-paper  taken  off  the  barmaid’s 
head,  with  the  curl  in  it. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  said  I,  when  the  removed  person  of 
the  driver  again  admitted  of  my  presenting  my  face  at  the 
portal.  “ But  — excuse  my  curiosity,  which  I inherit  from 
my  mother  — do  you  live  here  ? ” 

“ That’s  good,  too ! ” returned  the  little  man,  composedly 


BILL-S  TICKIJS T G . 


215 


laying  aside  a pipe  he  had  smoked  out,  and  filling  the  pipe 
just  brought  to  him. 

“ Oli,  you  don’t  live  here  then  ? ” said  I. 

He  shook  his  head,  as  he  calmly  lighted  his  pipe  by  means 
of  a German  tinder-box,  and  replied,  “ This  is  my  carriage. 
When  things  are  flat,  I take  a ride  sometimes,  and  enjoy  my- 
self. I am  the  inventor  of  these  wans.” 

His  pipe  was  now  alight.  He  drank  his  beer  all  at  once, 
and  he  smoked  and  he  smiled  at  me. 

“ It  was  a great  idea  ! ” said  I. 

“ Hot  so  bad,”  returned  the  little  man,  with  the  modesty  of 
merit. 

“ Might  I be  permitted  to  inscribe  your  name  upon  the  tab- 
lets of  my  memory  ? ” I asked. 

“ There’s  not  much  odds  in  the  name,”  returned  the  little 
man,  “ — no  name  particular  — I am  the  King  of  the  Bill- 
Stickers.” 

“ Good  gracious  ! ” said  I. 

The  monarch  informed  me,  with  a smile,  that  he  had  never 
been  crowned  or  installed  with  any  public  ceremonies,  but,  that 
he  was  peaceably  acknowledged  as  King  of  the  Bill-Stickers 
in  right  of  being  the  oldest  and  most  respected  member  of 
“ the  old  school  of  bill-sticking.”  He  likewise  gave  me  to 
understand  that  there  was  a Lord  Mayor  of  the  Bill-Stickers, 
whose  genius  was  chiefly  exercised  within  the  limits  of  the 
city.  He  made  some  allusion,  also,  to  an  inferior  potentate, 
called  “ Turkey-legs  ; ” but,  I did  not  understand  that  this  gen- 
tleman was  invested  with  much  power.  I rather  inferred  that 
he  derived  his  title  from  some  peculiarity  of  gait,  and  that  it 
was  of  an  honorary  character. 

“ My  father,”  pursued  the  King  of  the  Bill-Stickers,  “ was 
Engineer,  Beadle,  and  Bill-Sticker  to  the  parish  of  St.  An- 
drew’s, Holborn,  in  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
eighty.  My  father  stuck  bills  at  the  time  of  the  riots  of 
London.” 

“You  must  be  acquainted  with  the  whole  subject  of  bill- 
sticking,  from  that  time  to  the  present ! ” said  I. 

“ Pretty  well  so,”  was  the  answer. 

“ Excuse  me,”  said  I ; “ but  I am  a sort  of  collector  — ” 


216 


BILL-STICKING. 


“ Not  Income-tax  ? ” cried  His  Majesty,  hastily  removing  his 
pipe  from  his  lips. 

“ No,  no,”  said  I. 

“ Water-rate  ? ” said  His  Majesty. 

“No,  no,”  I returned. 

“ Gas  ? Assessed  ? Sewers  ? ” said  His  Majesty. 

“ You  misunderstand  me,”  I replied,  soothingly.  ?<Not  that 
sort  of  collector  at  all : a collector  of  facts.” 

“ Oh  ! if  it’s  only  facts,”  cried  the  King  of  the  Bill-Stickers, 
recovering  his  good-humor,  and  banishing  the  great  mistrust 
that  had  suddenly  fallen  upon  him,  “ come  in  and  welcome ! 
If  it  had  been  income,  or  winders,  I think  I should  have 
pitched  you  out  of  the  wan,  upon  my  soul ! 99 

Beadily  complying  with  the  invitation,  I squeezed  myself 
in  at  the  small  aperture.  His  Majesty,  graciously  handing 
me  a little  three-legged  stool  on  which  I took  my  seat  in  a 
corner,  inquired  if  I smoked. 

“ I do ; — that  is,  I can,”  I answered. 

“Pipe  and  a screw!”  said  His  Majesty  to  the  attendant 
charioteer.  “ Do  you  prefer  a dry  smoke,  or  do  you  moisten 
it?” 

As  unmitigated  tobacco  produces  most  disturbing  effects 
upon  my  system  (indeed,  if  I had  perfect  moral  courage,  I 
doubt  if  I should  smoke  at  all,  under  any  circumstances),  I 
advocated  moisture,  and  begged  the  Sovereign  of  the  Bill- 
Stickers  to  name  his  usual  liquor,  and  to  concede  to  me  the 
privilege  of  paying  for  it.  After  some  delicate  reluctance  on 
his  part,  we  were  provided,  through  the  instrumentality  of  the 
attendant  charioteer,  with  a can  of  cold  rum-and-water,  flavored 
with  sugar  and  lemon.  We  were  also  furnished  with  a tumbler, 
and  I was  provided  with  a pipe.  His  Majesty,  then,  observing 
that  we  might  combine  business  with  conversation,  gave  the 
word  for  the  car  to  proceed;  and,  to  my  great  delight,  we 
jogged  away  at  a foot  pace. 

I say  to  my  great  delight,  because  I am  very  fond  of  novelty, 
and  it  was  a new  sensation  to  be  jolting  through  the  tumult 
of  the  city  in  that  secluded  Temple,  partly  open  to  the  sky, 
surrounded  by  the  roar  without,  and  seeing  nothing  but  the 
clouds.  Occasionally,  blows  from  whips  fell  heavily  on  the 


BILL-STICKING. 


217 


Temple’s  walls,  when  by  stopping  up  the  road  longer  than 
usual,  we  irritated  carters  and  coachmen  to  madness  ; but,  they 
fell  harmless  upon  us  within  and  disturbed  not  the  serenity 
of  our  peaceful  retreat.  As  I looked  upward,  I felt,  I should 
imagine,  like  the  Astronomer  Royal.  I was  enchanted  by  the 
contrast  between  the  freezing  nature  of  our  external  mission 
on  the  blood  of  the  populace,  and  the  perfect  composure  reign- 
ing within  those  sacred  precincts  : where  His  Majesty,  reclining 
easily  on  his  left  arm,  smoked  his  pipe  and  drank  his  rum- 
and-water  from  his  own  side  of  the  tumbler,,  which  stood 
impartially  between  us.  As  I looked  down  from  the  clouds 
and  caught  his  royal  eye,  he  understood  my  reflections.  “ I 
have  an  idea,”  he  observed,  with  an  upward  glance,  “ of  train- 
ing scarlet  runners  across  in  the  season,  — making  an  arbor  of 
it,  — and  sometimes  taking  tea  in  the  same,  according  to  the 
song.” 

I nodded  approval. 

“ And  here  you  repose  and  think  ? ” said  I. 

“ And  think,”  said  he,  “ of  posters  — walls  — and  hoard- 
ings.” 

We  were  both  silent,  contemplating  the  vastness  of  the  sub- 
ject. I remembered  a surprising  fancy  of  dear  Thomas  Hood’s, 
and  wondered  whether  this  monarch  ever  sighed  to  repair  to 
the  great  wall  of  China,  and  stick  bills  all  over  it. 

“And  so,”  said  he,  rousing  himself,  “it’s  facts  as  you 
collect  ? ” 

“ Facts,”  said  I. 

“The  facts  of  bill-sticking,”  pursued  His  Majesty,  in  a 
benignant  manner,  “as  known  to  myself,  air  as  following. 
When  my  father  was  Engineer,  Beadle,  and  Bill-Sticker  to  the 
parish  of  St.  Andrews,  Holborn,  he  employed  women  to  post 
bills  for  him.  He  employed  women  to  post  bills  at  the  time 
of  the  riots  of  London.  He  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-five 
year,  and  was  buried  by  the  murdered  Eliza  G-rimwood,  over 
in  the  Waterloo-road.” 

As  this  was  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a royal  speech,  I 
listened  with  deference  and  silently.  His  Majesty,  taking  a 
scroll  from  his  pocket,  proceeded,  with  great  distinctness,  to 
pour  out  the  following  flood  of  information : 


218 


BILL-STICKING . 


“ 6 The  bills  being  at  that  period  mostly  proclamations  and 
declarations,  and  which  were  only  a demy  size,  the  manner  of 
posting  the  bills  (as  they  did  not  use  brushes)  was  by  means 
of  a piece  of  wood  which  they  called  a “ dabber.”  Thus  things 
continued  till  such  time  as  the  State  Lottery  was  passed,  and 
then  the  printers  began  to  print  larger  bills,  and  men  were 
employed  instead  of  women,  as  the  State  Lottery  Commis- 
sioners then  began  to  send  men  all  over  England  to  post  bills, 
and  would  keep  them  out  for  six  or  eight  months  at  a time, 
and  they  were  called  by  the  London  bill-stickers  “ trampers  ,” 
their  wages  at  the  time  being  ten  shillings  per  day,  besides 
expenses.  They  used  sometimes  to  be  stationed  in  large 
towns  for  five  or  six  months  together,  distributing  the  schemes 
to  all  the  houses  in  the  town.  And  then  there  were  more 
caricature  wood-block  engravings  for  posting-bills  than  there 
are  at  the  present  time,  the  principal  printers,  at  that  time,  of 
posting-bills  being  Messrs.  Evans  and  Ruffy,  of  Budge-row; 
Thoroughgood  and  Whiting,  of  the  present  day ; and  Messrs. 
Gye  and  Balne,  Gracechurch  Street,  City.  The  largest  bills 
printed  at  that  period  were  a two-sheet  double  crown ; and 
when  they  commenced  printing  four-sheet  bills,  two  bill- 
stickers  would  work  together.  They  had  no  settled  wages 
per  week,  but  had  a fixed  price  for  their  work,  and  the 
London  bill-stickers,  during  a lottery  week,  have  been  known 
to  earn,  each  eight  or  nine  pounds  per  week,  till  the  day  of 
drawing ; likewise  the  men  who  carried  boards  in  the  street 
used  to  have  one  pound  per  week,  and  the  bill-stickers  at  that 
time  would  not  allow  any  one  to  wilfully  cover  or  destroy 
their  bills,  as  they  had  a society  amongst  themselves,  and  very 
frequently  dined  together  at  some  public-house  where  they 
used  to  go  of  an  evening  to  have  their  work  delivered  out 
untoe  ’em.’  ” 

All  this  His  Majesty  delivered  in  a gallant  manner;  posting 
it,  as  it  were,  before  me,  in  a great  proclamation.  I took 
advantage  of  the  pause  he  now  made,  to  inquire  what  a “ two- 
sheet  double  crown  ” might  express  ? 

“ A two-sheet  double  crown,”  replied  the  King,  “ is  a bill 
thirty-nine  inches  wide  by  thirty  inches  high.” 

“ Is  it  possible,”  said  I,  my  mind  reverting  to  the  gigantic 


BILL- STICKING. 


219 


admonitions  we  were  then  displaying  to  the  multitude  — which 
were  as  infants  to  some  of  the  posting-bills  on  the  rotten  old 
warehouse  — “ that  some  few  years  ago  the  largest  bill  was  no 
larger  than  that  ? ” 

“ The  fact/’  returned  the  King,  “ is  undoubtedly  so.”  Here 
he  instantly  rushed  again  into  the  scroll. 

“ ‘ Since  the  abolishing  of  the  State  Lottery  all  that  good 
feeling  has  gone,  and  nothing  but  jealousy  exists,  through  the 
rivalry  of  each  other.  Several  bill-sticking  companies  have 
started,  but  have  failed.  The  first  party  that  started  a com- 
pany was  twelve  years  ago ; but  what  was  left  of  the  old 
school  and  their  dependants  joined  together  and  opposed  them. 
And  for  some  time  we  were  quiet  again,  till  a printer  of 
Hatton  Garden  formed  a company  by  hiring  the  sides  of 
houses ; but  he  was  not  supported  by  the  public,  and  he  left 
his  wooden  frames  fixed  up  for  rent.  The  last  company  that 
started,  took  advantage  of  the  New  Police  Act,  and  hired  of 
Messrs.  Grisell  and  Peto  the  hoarding  of  Trafalgar  Square, 
and  established  a bill-sticking  office  in  Cursitor-street,  Chan- 
cery-lane, and  engaged  some  of  the  new  bill-stickers  to  do 
their  work,  and  for  a time  got  the  half  of  all  our  work,  and 
with  such  spirit  did  they  carry  on  their  opposition  towards 
us,  that  they  used  to  give  us  in  charge  before  the  magistrate, 
and  get  us  fined ; but  they  found  it  so  expensive,  that  they 
could  not  keep  it  up,  for  they  were  always  employing  a lot  of 
ruffians  from  the  Seven  Dials  to  come  and  fight  us ; and  on 
one  occasion  the  old  bill-stickers  went  to  Trafalgar  Square  to 
attempt  to  post  bills,  when  they  were  given  in  custody  by  the 
watchman  in  their  employ,  and  fined  at  Queen  Square  five 
pounds,  as  they  would  not  allow  any  of  us  to  speak  in  the 
office ; but  when  they  were  gone,  we  had  an  interview  with 
the  magistrate,  who  mitigated  the  fine  to  fifteen  shillings. 
During  the  time  the  men  were  waiting  for  the  fine,  this 
company  started  off  to  a public-house  that  we  were  in  the 
habit  of  using,  and  waited  for  us  coming  back,  where  a fight- 
ing scene  took  place  that  beggars  description.  Shortly  after 
this,  the  principal  one  day  came  and  shook  hands  with  us, 
and  acknowledged  that  he  had  broken  up  the  company,  and 
that  he  himself  had  lost  five  hundred  pound  in  trying  to  over- 


220 


BILL-STICKING . 


throw  us.  We  then  took  possession  of  the  hoarding  in 
Trafalgar  Square ; but  Messrs.  Grisell  and  Peto  would  not 
allow  us  to  post  our  bills  on  the  said  hoarding  without  paying 
them — and  from  first  to  last  we  paid  upwards  of  two  hundred 
pounds  for  that  hoarding,  and  likewise  the  hoarding  of  the 
Reform  Club-house,  Pall  Mall.’  ” 

His  Majesty,  being  now  completely  out  of  breath,  laid  down 
his  scroll  (which  he  appeared  to  have  finished),  puffed  at  his 
pipe,  and  took  some  rum-and-water.  I embraced  the  oppor- 
tunity of  asking  how  many  divisions  the  art  and  mystery  of 
bill-sticking  comprised  ? He  replied,  three  — auctioneers’  bill- 
sticking,  theatrical  bill-sticking,  general  bill-sticking. 

“The  auctioneers’  porters,”  said  the  King,  “who  do  their 
bill-sticking,  are  mostly  respectable  and  intelligent,  and  gene- 
rally well  paid  for  their  work,  whether  in  town  or  country. 
The  price  paid  by  the  principal  auctioneers  for  country  work 
is  nine  shillings  per  day ; that  is,  seven  shillings  for  day’s 
work,  one  shilling  for  lodging,  and  one  for  paste.  Town  work 
is  five  shillings  a day,  including  paste.” 

“Town  work  must  be  rather  hot  work,”  said  I,  “if  there 
be  many  of  those  fighting  scenes  that  beggar  description, 
among  the  bill-stickers  ? 

“Well,”  replied  the  King,  “I  an’t  a stranger,  I assure 
you,  to  black  eyes ; a bill-sticker  ought  to  know  how  to 
handle  his  fists  a bit.  As  to  that  row  I have  mentioned,  that 
grew  out  of  competition,  conducted  in  an  uncompromising 
spirit.  Besides  a man  in  a horse-and-shay  continually  follow- 
ing us  about,  the  company  had  a watchman  on  duty,  night 
and  day,  to  prevent  us  sticking  bills  upon  the  hoarding  in 
Trafalgar  Square.  We  went  there,  early  one  morning,  to 
stick  bills  and  to  black-wash  their  bills  if  we  were  interfered 
with.  WTe  were  interfered  with,  and  I gave  the  word  for  lay- 
ing on  the  wash.  It  ivas  laid  on — pretty  brisk — and  we 
were  all  taken  to  Queen  Square  : but  they  couldn’t  fine  me. 
I knew  that,”  — with  a bright  smile  — “I’d  only  given  direc- 
tions — I was  only  the  General.” 

Charmed  with  this  monarch’s  affability,  I inquired  if  he 
had  ever  hired  a hoarding  himself. 

“ Hired  a large  one,”  he  replied,  “ opposite  the  Lyceum 


BILL-STICKING . 


221 


Theatre,  when  the  buildings  was  there.  Paid  thirty  pound 
for  it ; let  out  places  on  it,  and  called  it  ‘ The  External  Paper- 
Hanging  Station/  But  it  didn’t  answer.  Ah ! ” said  His 
Majesty,  thoughtfully,  as  he  filled  the  glass,  “ Bill-stickers 
have  a deal  to  contend  with.  The  bill-sticking  clause  was  got 
into  the  Police  Act  by  a member  of  parliament  that  employed 
me  at  his  election.  The  clause  is  pretty  stiff  respecting  where 
bills  go ; but  lie  didn’t  mind  where  his  bills  went.  It  was  all 
right  enough,  so  long  as  they  was  his  bills  ! ” 

Fearful  that  I observed  a shadow  of  misanthropy  on  the 
King’s  cheerful  face,  I asked  whose  ingenious  invention  that 
was,  which  I greatly  admired,  of  sticking  bills  under  the 
arches  of  the  bridges. 

“Mine!”  said  His  Majesty,  “I  was  the  first  that  ever 
stuck  a bill  under  a bridge  ! Imitators  soon  rose  up,  of  course. 
— When  don’t  they  ? But  they  stuck  ’em  at  low-water,  and 
the  tide  came  and  swept  the  bills  clean  away.  I knew  that ! ” 
The  King  laughed. 

“What  may  be  the  name  of  that  instrument,  like  an  im- 
mense fishing-rod,”  I inquired,  “with  which  bills  are  posted 
on  high  places  ? ” 

“The  joints,”  returned  His  Majesty.  “Now,  we  use  the 
joints  where  formerly  we  used  ladders — as  they  do  still  in 
country  places.  Once,  when  Wadame”  (Vestris,  understood) 
“was  playing  in  Liverpool,  another  bill-sticker  and  me  were 
at  it  together  on  the  wall  outside  the  Clarence  Hock  — me 
with  the  joints  — him  on  a ladder.  Lord  ! I had  my  bill  up, 
right  over  his  head,  yards  above  him,  ladder  and  all,  while  he 
was  crawling  to  his  work.  The  people  going  in  and  out  of 
the  docks,  stood  and  laughed  ! — It’s  about  thirty  years  since 
the  joints  come  in.” 

“ Are  there  any  bill-stickers  who  can’t  read  ? ” I took  the 
liberty  of  inquiring. 

“Some,”  said  the  King.  “But  they  know  which  is  the 
right  side  up’ards  of  their  work.  They  keep  it  as  it’s  given 
out  to  ’em.  I have  seen  a bill  or  so  stuck  wrong  side  up’ards. 
But  it’s  very  rare.” 

Our  discourse  sustained  some  interruption  at  this  point, 
by  the  procession  of  cars  occasioning  a stoppage  of  about  three 


222 


BILL-STICKING. 


quarters  of  a mile  in  length,  as  nearly  as  I could  judge.  His 
Majesty,  however,  entreating  me  not  to  be  discomposed  by 
the  contingent  uproar,  smoked  with  great  placidity,  and  sur- 
veyed the  firmament. 

When  we  were  again  in  motion,  I begged  to  be  informed 
what  was  the  largest  poster  His  Majesty  had  ever  seen.  The 
King  replied,  “ A thirty-six  sheet  poster.”  I gathered,  also,  that 
there  were  about  a hundred  and  fifty  bill-stickers  in  London, 
and  that  His  Majesty  considered  an  average  hand  equal  to 
the  posting  of  one  hundred  bills  (single  sheets)  in  a day. 
The  King  was  of  opinion,  that,  although  posters  had  much 
increased  in  size,  they  had  not  increased  in  number ; as  the 
abolition  of  the  State  Lotteries  had  occasioned  a great  falling 
off,  especially  in  the  country.  Over  and  above  which  change, 
I bethought  myself  that  the  custom  of  advertising  in  news- 
papers had  greatly  increased.  The  completion  of  many 
London  improvements,  as  Trafalgar  Square  (I  particularly 
observed  the  singularity  of  His  Majesty’s  calling  that  an 
improvement),  the  Royal  Exchange,  &c.,  had  of  late  years 
reduced  the  number  of  advantageous  posting-places.  Bill- 
stickers  at  present  rather  confine  themselves  to  districts,  than 
to  particular  descriptions  of  work.  One  man  would  strike 
over  Whitechapel,  another  would  take  round  Houndsditch, 
Shoreditch,  and  the  City  Road ; one  (the  King  said)  would 
stick  to  the  Surrey  side ; another  would  make  a beat  of  the 
West-end. 

His  Majesty  remarked,  with  some  approach  to  severity,  on 
the  neglect  of  delicacy  and  taste,  gradually  introduced  into  the 
trade  by  the  new  school : a profligate  and  inferior  race  of 
impostors  who  took  jobs  at  almost  any  price,  to  the  detriment 
of  the  old  school,  and  the  confusion  of  their  own  misguided 
employers.  He  considered  that  the  trade  was  overdone  with 
competition,  and  observed,  speaking  of  his  subjects,  “ There 
are  too  many  of  ’em.”  He  believed,  still,  that  things  were  a 
little  better  than  they  had  been ; adducing,  as  a proof,  the 
fact  that  particular  posting  places  were  now  reserved,  by 
common  consent,  for  particular  posters  ; those  places,  however, 
must  be  regularly  occupied  by  those  posters,  or,  they  lapsed 
and  fell  into  other  hands.  It  was  of  no  use  giving  a man  a 


BILL-STICKING. 


223 


Drury  Lane  bill  this  week  and  not  next.  Where  was  it  to 
go  ? He  was  of  opinion  that  going  to  the  expense  of  putting 
up  your  own  board  on  which  your  sticker  could  display  your 
own  bills,  was  the  only  complete  way  of  posting  yourself  at 
the  present  time ; but,  even  to  effect  this,  on  payment  of  a 
shilling  a week  to  the  keepers  of  steamboat  piers  and  other 
such  places,  you  must  be  able,  besides,  to  give  orders  for 
theatres  and  public  exhibitions,  or  you  would  be  sure  to  be 
cut  out  by  somebody.  His  Majesty  regarded  the  passion  for 
orders,  as  one  of  the  most  inappeasable  appetites  of  human 
nature.  If  there  were  a building,  or  if  there  were  repairs, 
going  on,  anywhere,  you  could  generally  stand  something  and 
make  it  right  with  the  foreman  of  the  works ; but,  orders 
would  be  expected  from  you,  and  the  man  who  could  give  the 
most  orders  was  the  man  who  would  come  off  best.  There 
was  this  other  objectional  point,  in  orders,  that  workmen 
sold  them  for  drink,  and  often  sold  them  to  persons  who  were 
likewise  troubled  with  the  weakness  of  thirst : which  led  (His 
Majesty  said)  to  the  presentation  of  your  orders  at  Theatre 
doors,  by  individuals  who  were  ee  too  shakery  ” to  derive  in- 
tellectual profit  from  the  entertainments,  and  who  brought 
a scandal  on  you.  Finally,  His  Majesty  said  that  you  could 
hardly  put  too  little  in  a poster ; what  you  wanted,  was,  two 
or  three  good  catch-lines  for  the  eye  to  rest  on — then,  leave  it 
alone  — and  there  you  were  ! 

These  are  the  minutes  of  my  conversation  with  His  Majest}^, 
as  I noted  them  down  shortly  afterwards.  I am  not  aware 
that  I have  been  betrayed  into  any  alteration  or  suppression. 
The  manner  of  the  King  was  frank  in  the  extreme ; and  he 
seemed  to  me  to  avoid,  at  once  that  slight  tendency  to 
repetition  which  may  have  been  observed  in  the  conversation 
of  His  Majesty  King  George  the  Third,  and  that  slight  under- 
current of  egotism  which  the  curious  observer  may  perhaps 
detect  in  the  conversation  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

I must  do  the  King  the  justice  to  say  that  it  was  I,  and  not 
he,  who  closed  the  dialogue.  At  this  juncture,  I became  the 
subject  of  a remarkable  optical  delusion;  the  legs  of  my  stool 
appeared  to  me  to  double  up;  the  car  to  spin  round  and 
round  with  great  violence;  and  a mist  to  arise  between  myself 


224 


BILL-STICKING. 


and  His  Majesty.  In  addition  to  these  sensations,  I felt 
extremely  unwell.  I refer  these  unpleasant  effects,  either  to 
the  paste  with  which  the  posters  were  affixed  to  the  van: 
which  may  have  contained  some  small  portion  of  arsenic;  or, 
to  the  printer’s  ink,  which  may  have  contained  some  equally 
deleterious  ingredient.  Of  this,  I cannot  be  sure.  I am  only 
sure  that  I was  not  affected,  either  by  the  smoke,  or  the  rum- 
and-water.  I was  assisted  out  of  the  vehicle,  in  a state  of 
mind  which  I have  only  experienced  in  two  other  places  — I 
allude  to  the  Pier  at  Dover,  and  to  the  corresponding  portion 
of  the  town  of  Calais  — and  sat  upon  a door-step  until  I 
recovered.  The  procession  had  then  disappeared.  I have 
since  looked  anxiously  for  the  King  in  several  other  cars,  but 
I have  not  yet  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  His  Majesty. 


“ BIRTHS.  MRS.  MEEK,  OF  A SON” 


My  name  is  Meek.  I am,  in  fact,  Mr.  Meek.  That  son  is 
mine  and  Mrs.  Meek’s.  When  I saw  the  announcement  in  the 
Times,  I dropped  the  paper.  I had  put  it  in,  myself,  and  paid 
for  it,  but  it  looked  so  noble  that  it  overpowered  me. 

As  soon  as  I could  compose  my  feelings,  I took  the  paper 
up  to  Mrs.  Meek’s  bedside.  “ Maria  Jane,”  said  I (I  allude  to 
Mrs.  Meek),  “you  are  now  a public  character.”  We  read  the 
review  of  our  child,  several  times,  with  feelings  of  the  strong- 
est emotion;  and  I sent  the  boy  who  cleans  the  boots  and 
shoes,  to  the  office  for  fifteen  copies.  No  reduction  was  made 
on  taking  that  quantity. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  say,  that  our  child  had 
been  expected.  In  fact,  it  had  been  expected,  with  comparative 
confidence,  for  some  months.  Mrs.  Meek’s  mother,  who  resides 
with  us  — of  the  name  of  Bigby — had  made  every  preparation 
for  its  admission  to  our  circle. 

I hope  and  believe  I am  a quiet  man.  I will  go  farther.  I 
know  I am  a quiet  man.  My  constitution  is  tremulous,  my 
voice  was  never  loud,  and,  in  point  of  stature,  I have  been 
from  infancy,  small.  I have  the  greatest  respect  for  Maria 
Jane’s  Mamma.  She  is  a most  remarkable  woman.  I honor 
Maria  Jane’s  Mamma.  In  my  opinion  she  would  storm  a town, 
single-handed,  with  a hearth-broom,  and  carry  it.  I have 
never  known  her  to  yield  any  point  whatever,  to  mortal  man. 
She  is  calculated  to  terrify  the  stoutest  heart. 

Still  — but  I will  not  anticipate. 

The  first  intimation  I had,  of  any  preparations  being  in 
progress,  on  the  part  of  Maria  Jane’s  Mamma,  was  one  after- 
noon, several  months  ago.  I came  home  earlier  than  usual 
from  the  office,  and,  proceeding  into  the  dining-room,  found 
an  obstruction  behind  the  door,  which  prevented  it  from  open- 
vol.  n — 15  225 


226 


“ BIBTHS . MBS.  MEEK , OF  J £OiV.” 


ing  freely.  It  was  an  obstruction  of  a soft  nature.  On  looking 
in,  I found  it  to  be  a female. 

The  female  in  question  stood  in  the  corner  behind  the  door, 
consuming  Sherry  Wine.  From  the  nutty  smell  of  that 
beverage  pervading  the  apartment,  I have  no  doubt  she  was 
consuming  a second  glassful.  She  wore  a black  bonnet  of 
large  dimensions,  and  was  copious  in  figure.  The  expression 
of  her  countenance  was  severe  and  discontented.  The  words 
to  which  she  gave  utterance  on  seeing  me,  were  these,  “Oh 
git  along  with  you,  Sir,  if  you  please;  me  and  Mrs.  Bigby 
don’t  want  no  male  parties  here  ! ” 

That  female  was  Mrs.  Prodgit. 

I immediately  withdrew,  of  course.  I was  rather  hurt,  but 
I made  no  remark.  Whether  it  was  that  I showed  a lowness 
of  spirits  after  dinner,  in  consequence  of  feeling  that  I seemed 
to  intrude,  I cannot  say.  But,  Maria  Jane’s  Mamma  said  to  me 
on  her  retiring  for  the  night,  in  a low  distinct  voice,  and  with 
a look  of  reproach  that  completely  subdued  me  : “ George 
Meek,  Mrs.  Prodgit  is  your  wife’s  nurse !” 

I bear  no  ill-will  towards  Mrs.  Prodgit.  Is  it  likely  that 
I,  writing  this  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  should  be  capable  of 
deliberate  animosity  towards  a female,  so  essential  to  the  wel- 
fare of  Maria  Jane  ? I am  willing  to  admit  that  Fate  may 
have  been  to  blame,  and  not  Mrs.  Prodgit ; but,  it  is  unde- 
niably true,  that  the  latter  female  brought  desolation  and 
devastation  into  my  lowly  dwelling. 

We  were  happy  after  her  first  appearance : we  were  some- 
times exceedingly  so.  But,  whenever  the  parlor  door  was 
opened,  and  “ Mrs.  Prodgit ! ” announced  (and  she  was  very 
often  announced),  misery  ensued.  I could  not  bear  Mrs. 
Prodgit’s  look.  I felt  that  I was  far  from  wanted,  and  had 
no  business  to  exist  in  Mrs.  Prodgit’s  presence.  Between 
Maria  Jane’s  Mamma  and  Mrs.  Prodgit  there  was  a dreadful, 
secret,  understanding  — a dark  mystery  and  conspiracy,  point- 
ing me  out  as  a being  to  be  shunned.  I appeared  to  have 
done  something  that  was  evil.  Whenever  Mrs.  Prodgit  called, 
after  dinner,  I retired  to  my  dressing-room — where  the  tem- 
perature is  very  low,  indeed,  in  the  wintry  time  of  the  year  — 
and  sat  looking  at  my  frosty  breath  as  it  rose  before  me,  and 


“ BIRTHS . MBS.  MEEK,  OF  A SON” 


227 


at  my  rack  of  boots : a serviceable  article  of  furniture,  but 
never,  in  my  opinion,  an  exhilarating  object.  The  length  of 
the  councils  that  were  held  with  Mrs.  Prodgit,  under  these 
circumstances,  I will  not  attempt  to  describe.  1 will  merely 
remark,  that  Mrs.  Prodgit  always  consumed  Sherry  Wine 
while  the  deliberations  were  in  progress ; that  they  always 
ended  in  Maria  Jane’s  being  in  wretched  spirits  on  the  sofa; 
and  that  Maria  Jane’s  Mamma  always  received  me,  when  I was 
recalled,  with  a look  of  desolate  triumph  that  too  plainly  said, 
“ Now , George  Meek  ! You  see  my  child,  Maria  Jane,  a ruin, 
and  I hope  you  are  satisfied ! ” 

I pass,  generally,  over  the  period  that  intervened  between 
the  day  when  Mrs.  Prodgit  entered  her  protest  against  male 
parties,  and  the  ever-memorable  midnight  when  I brought  her 
to  my  unobtrusive  home  in  a cab,  with  an  extremely  large  box 
on  the  roof,  and  a bundle,  a bandbox,  and  a basket,  between 
the  driver’s  legs.  I have  no  objection  to  Mrs.  Prodgit  (aided 
and  abetted  by  Mrs.  Bigby,  who  I never  can  forget  is  the 
parent  of  Maria  Jane)  taking  entire  possession  of  my  unas- 
suming establishment.  In  the  recesses  of  my  own  breast,  the 
thought  may  linger  that  a man  in  possession  cannot  be  so 
dreadful  as  a woman,  and  that  woman  Mrs.  Prodgit ; but,  I 
ought  to  bear  a good  deal,  and  I hope  I can,  and  do.  Huffing 
and  snubbing,  prey  upon  my  feelings ; but,  I can  bear  them 
without  complaint.  They  may  tell  in  the  long  run ; I may  be 
hustled  about,  from  post  to  pillar,  beyond  my  strength ; never- 
theless, I wish  to  avoid  giving  rise  to  words  in  the  family. 

The  voice  of  Nature,  however,  cries  aloud  in  behalf  of  Au- 
gustus George,  my  infant  son.  It  is  for  him  that  I wish  to 
utter  a few  plaintive  household  words.  I am  not  at  all  angry ; 
I am  mild  — but  miserable. 

I wish  to  know  why,  when  my  child,  Augustus  George,  was 
expected  in  our  circle,  a provision  of  pins  was  made,  as  if  the 
little  stranger  were  a criminal  who  was  to  be  put  to  the  tor- 
ture immediately  on  his  arrival,  instead  of  a holy  babe  ? I 
wish  to  know  why  haste  was  made  to  stick  those  pins  all  over 
his  innocent  form,  in  every  direction  ? I wish  to  be  informed 
why  light  and  air  are  excluded  from  Augustus  George,  like 
poisons  ? Why,  I ask,  is  my  unoffending  infant  so  hedged 


228 


“BIRTHS.  MRS . MEEK,  OF  A SON” 


into  a basket-bedstead,  with  dimity  and  calico,  with  miniature 
sheets  and  blankets,  that  I can  only  hear  him  snuffle  (and  no 
wonder  !)  deep  down  under  the  pink  hood  of  a little  bathing- 
machine,  and  can  never  peruse  even  so  much  of  his  lineaments 
as  his  nose. 

Was  I expected  to  be  the  father  of  a French  Boll,  that  the 
brushes  of  All  Nations  were  laid  in,  to  rasp  Augustus  George  ? 
Am  I to  be  told  that  his  sensitive  skin  was  ever  intended  by 
Nature  to  have  rashes  brought  out  upon  it,  by  the  premature 
and  incessant  use  of  those  formidable  little  instruments  ? 

Is  my  son  a Nutmeg,  that  he  is  to  be  grated  on  the  stiff 
edges  of  sharp  frills  ? Am  I the  parent  of  a Muslin  boy,  that 
his  yielding  surface  is  to  be  crimped  and  small-plaited  ? Or 
is  my  child  composed  of  Paper  or  of  Linen,  that  impressions 
of  the  finer  getting-up  art,  practised  by  the  laundress,  are  to 
be  printed  off,  all  over  his  soft  arms  and  legs,  as  I constantly 
observe  them  ? The  starch  enters  his  soul  • who  can  wonder 
that  he  cries  ? 

Was  Augustus  George  intended  to  have  limbs,  or  to  be  born 
a Torso  ? I presume  that  limbs  were  the  intention,  as  they 
are  the  usual  practice  ? Then,  why  are  my  poor  child’s  limbs 
fettered  and  tied  up  ? Am  I to  be  told  that  there  is  any 
analogy  between  Augustus  George  Meek  and  Jack  Sheppard  ? 

Analyze  Castor  Oil  at  any  Institution  of  Chemistry  that 
may  be  agreed  upon,  and  inform  me  what  resemblance,  in 
taste,  it  bears  to  that  natural  provision  which  it  is  at  once 
the  pride  and  duty  of  Maria  Jane  to  administer  to  Augustus 
George ! Yet,  I charge  Mrs.  Prodgit  (aided  and  abetted  by 
Mrs.  Bigby)  with  systematically  forcing  Castor  Oil  on  my 
innocent  son,  from  the  first  hour  of  his  birth.  When  that 
medicine,  in  its  efficient  action,  causes  internal  disturbance  to 
Augustus  George,  I charge  Mrs.  Prodgit  (aided  and  abetted 
by  Mrs.  Bigby)  with  insanely  and  inconsistently  administering 
opium  to  allay  the  storm  she  has  raised  ! What  is  the  mean- 
ing of  this  ? 

If  the  days  of  Egyptian  Mummies  are  past,  how  dare  Mrs. 
Prodgit  require,  for  the  use  of  my  son,  an  amount  of  flannel 
and  linen  that  would  carpet  my  humble  roof  ? Do  I wonder 
that  she  requires  it  ? No  ! This  morning,  within  an  hour,  I 


“ BIRTHS.  MRS.  MEEK , OF  A SON” 


229 


beheld  this  agonizing  sight.  I beheld  my  son  — Augustus 
George  — in  Mrs.  Prodgit’ s hands,  and  on  Mrs.  Prodgit’s  knee, 
being  dressed.  He  was  at  the  moment,  comparatively  speak- 
ing, in  a state  of  nature ; having  nothing  on,  but  an  extremely 
short  shirt,  remarkably  disproportionate  to  the  length  of  his 
usual  outer  garments.  Trailing  from  Mrs.  Prodgit’s  lap,  on 
the  floor,  was  a long  narrow  roller  or  bandage  — I should 
say  of  several  yards  in  extent.  In  this,  I saw  Mrs.  Prodgit 
tightly  roll  the  body  of  my  unoffending  infant,  turning  him 
over  and  over,  now  presenting  his  unconscious  face  upwards, 
now  the  back  of  his  bald  head,  until  the  unnatural  feat  was 
accomplished,  and  the  bandage  secured  by  a pin,  which  I have 
every  reason  to  believe  entered  the  body  of  my  only  child. 
In  this  tourniquet,  he  passes  the  present  phase  of  his  exist- 
ence. Can  I know  it,  and  smile ! 

I fear  I have  been  betrayed  into  expressing  myself  warmly, 
but  I feel  deeply.  Hot  for  myself ; for  Augustus  George.  I 
dare  not  interfere.  Will  any  one  ? Will  any  publication  ? 
Any  doctor  ? Any  parent  ? Any  body  ? I do  not  complain 
that  Mrs.  Prodgit  (aided  and  abetted  by  Mrs.  Bigby)  entirely 
alienates  Maria  Jane’s  affections  from  me,  and  interposes  an 
impassable  barrier  between  us.  I do  not  complain  of  being 
made  of  no  account.  I do  not  want  to  be  of  any  account. 
But,  Augustus  George  is  a production  of  Nature  (I  cannot 
think  otherwise),  and  I claim  that  he  should  be  treated  with 
some  remote  reference  to  Nature.  In  my  opinion,  Mrs.  Prodgit 
is,  from  first  to  last,  a convention  and  a superstition.  Are  all 
the  faculty  afraid  of  Mrs.  Prodgit  ? If  not,  why  don’t  they 
take  her  in  hand  and  improve  her  ? 

P.  S.  Maria  Jane’s  Mamma  boasts  of  her  own  knowledge  of 
the  subject,  and  says  she  brought  up  seven  children  besides 
Maria  Jane.  But  how  do  I know  that  she  might  not  have 
brought  them  up  much  better  ? Maria  Jane  herself  is  far 
from  strong,  and  is  subject  to  headaches,  and  nervous  indiges- 
tion. Besides  which,  I learn  from  the  statistical  tables  that 
one  child  in  five  dies  within  the  first  year  of  its  life ; and  one 
child  in  three,  within  the  fifth.  That  don’t  look  as  if  we  could 
never  improve  in  these  particulars,  I think  ! 

P.P.S.  Augustus  George  is  in  convulsions. 


LYING  AWAKE, 


“ My  uncle  lay  with  his  eyes  half-closed,  and  his  nightcap 
drawn  almost  down  to  his  nose.  His  fancy  was  already  wan- 
dering, and  began  to  mingle  up  the  present  scene  with  the 
crater  of  Vesuvius,  the  French  Opera,  the  Coliseum  at  home, 
Dolly’s  Chop-house  in  London,  and  all  the  farrago  of  noted 
places  with  which  the  brain  of  a traveller  is  crammed ; in  a 
word,  he  was  just  falling  asleep.” 

Thus,  tha/t  delightful  writer,  Washington  Irving,  in  his 
“ Tales  of  a Traveller.”  But,  it  happened  to  me  the  other  night 
to  be  lying : not  with  my  eyes  half  closed,  but  with  my  eyes 
wide  open ; not  with  my  nightcap  drawn  almost  down  to  my 
nose,  for  on  sanitary  principles  I never  wear  a nightcap : but 
with  my  hair  pitchforked  and  tozzled  all  over  the  pillow ; not 
just  falling  asleep  by  any  means,  but  glaringly,  persistently, 
and  obstinately,  broad  awake.  Perhaps,  with  no  scientific  in- 
tention or  invention,  I was  illustrating  the  theory  of  the  Duality 
of  the  Brain ; perhaps  one  part  of  my  brain,  being  wakeful, 
sat  up  to  watch  the  other  part  which  was  sleepy.  Be  that  as 
it  may,  something  in  me  was  as  desirous  to  go  to  sleep  as  it 
possibly  could  be,  but  something  else  in  me  would  not  go  to 
sleep,  and  was  as  obstinate  as  George  the  Third. 

Thinking  of  George  the  Third  — for  I devote  this  paper  to 
my  train  of  thoughts  as  I lay  awake  : most  people  lying  awake 
sometimes,  and  having  some  interest  in  the  subject — put  me 
in  mind  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  and  so  Benjamin  Franklin’s 
paper  on  the  art  of  procuring  pleasant  dreams,  which  would 
seem  necessarily  to  include  the  art  of  going  to  sleep,  came 
into  my  head.  Now,  as  I often  used  to  read  that  paper  when 
I was  a very  small  boy,  and  as  I recollect  everything  I read 
then,  as  perfectly  as  I forget  everything  I read  now,  I quoted 
“ Get  out  of  bed,  beat  up  and  turn  your  pillow,  shake  the  bed- 

230 


LYING  AWAKE. 


231 


clothes  well  with  at  least  twenty  shakes,  then  throw  the  bed 
open  and  leave  it  to  cool;  in  the  meanwhile,  continuing 
undressed,  walk  about  your  chamber.  When  you  begin  to 
feel  the  cold  air  unpleasant,  then  return  to  your  bed,  and  you 
will  soon  fall  asleep,  and  your  sleep  will  be  sweet  and  pleasant.” 
Not  a bit  of  it ! I performed  the  whole  ceremony,  and  if  it 
were  possible  for  me  to  be  more  saucer-eyed  than  I was  be- 
fore, that  was  the  only  result  that  came  of  it. 

Except  Niagara.  The  two  quotations  from  Washington 
Irving  and  Benjamin  Franklin  may  have  put  it  in  my  head  by 
an  American  association  of  ideas;  but  there  I was,  and  the 
Horse-shoe  Fall  was  thundering  and  tumbling  in  my  eyes  and 
ears,  and  the  very  rainbows  that  I left  upon  the  spray  when  I 
really  did  last  look  upon  it,  were  beautiful  to  see.  The  night- 
light  being  quite  as  plain,  however,  and  sleep  seeming  to  be 
many  thousand  miles  further  off  than  Niagara,  I made  up  my 
mind  to  think  a little  about  Sleep ; which  I no  sooner  did  than 
I whirled  off  in  spite  of  myself  to  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  and 
there  saw  a great  actor  and  dear  friend  of  mine  (whom  I had 
been  thinking  of  in  the  day)  playing  Macbeth,  and  heard  him 
apostrophizing  “ the  death  of  each  day’s  life,”  as  I have  heard 
him  many  a time,  in  the  days  that  are  gone. 

But,  Sleep.  I will  think  about  Sleep.  I am  determined  to 
think  (this  is  the  way  I went  on)  about  Sleep.  I must  hold 
the  word  Sleep,  tight  and  fast,  or  I shall  be  off  at  a tangent  in 
half  a second.  I feel  myself  unaccountably  straying,  already, 
into  Clare  Market.  Sleep.  It  would  be  curious,  as  illustrat- 
ing the  equality  of  sleep,  to  inquire  how  many  of  its  phenom- 
ena are  common  to  all  classes,  to  all  degrees  of  wealth  and 
poverty,  to  every  grade  of  education  and  ignorance.  Here, 
for  example,  is  her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria  in  her  palace,  this 
present  blessed  night,  and  here  is  Winking  Charley,  a sturdy 
vagrant,  in  one  of  her  Majesty’s  jails.  Her  Majesty  has 
fallen,  many  thousands  of  times,  from  that  same  Tower,  which 
I claim  a right  to  tumble  off  now  and  then.  So  has  Winking 
Charley.  Her  Majesty  in  her  sleep  has  opened  or  prorogued 
Parliament,  or  has  held  a Drawing  Boom,  attired  in  some 
very  scanty  dress,  the  deficiencies  and  improprieties  of  which 
have  caused  her  great  uneasiness.  I,  in  my  degree,  have 


232 


LYING  AWAKE. 


suffered  unspeakable  agitation  of  mind  from  taking  the  chair 
at  a public  dinner  at  the  London  Tavern  in  my  night-clothes, 
which  not  all  the  courtesy  of  my  kind  friend  and  host  Mr. 
Bathe  could  persuade  me  were  quite  adapted  to  the  occasion. 
Winking  Charley  has  been  repeatedly  tried  in  a worse  condi- 
tion. Her  Majesty  is  no  stranger  to  a vault  or  firmament,  of 
a sort  of  floorcloth,  with  an  indistinct  pattern  distantly  resem- 
bling eyes,  which  occasionally  obtrudes  itself  on  her  repose. 
Neither  am  I.  Neither  is  Winking  Charley.  It  is  quite 
common  to  all  three  of  us  to  skim  along  with  airy  strides  a 
little  above  the  ground ; also  to  hold,  with  the  deepest  inter- 
est, dialogues  with  various  people,  all  represented  by  our- 
selves ; and  to  be  at  our  wits’  end  to  know  what  they  are  going 
to  tell  us ; and  to  be  indescribably  astonished  by  the  secrets 
they  disclose.  It  is  probable  that  we  have  all  three  committed 
murders  and  hidden  bodies.  It  is  pretty  certain  that  we 
have  all  desperately  wanted  to  cry  out,  and  have  had  no  voice ; 
that  we  have  all  gone  to  the  play  and  not  been  able  to  get 
in ; that  we  have  all  dreamed  much  more  of  our  youth  than 
of  our  later  lives ; that  — I have  lost  it ! The  thread’s  broken. 

And  up  I go.  I,  lying  here  with  the  night-light  before  me, 
up  I go,  for  no  reason  on  earth  that  I can  find  out,  and  drawn 
by  no  links  that  are  visible  to^me,  up  the  Great  Saint  Bernard ! 
I have  lived  in  Switzerland,  and  rambled  among  the  moun- 
tains ; but,  why  I should  go  there  now,  and  why  up  the  Great 
Saint  Bernard  in  preference  to  any  other  mountain,  I have 
no  idea.  As  I lie  here  broad  awake,  and  with  every  sense 
so  sharpened  that  I can  distinctly  hear  distant  noises  inaudi- 
ble to  me  at  another  time,  I make  that  journey,  as  I really 
did,  on  the  same  summer  day,  with  the  same  happy  party  — 
ah ! two  since  dead,  I grieve  to  think  — and  there  is  the  same 
track,  with  the  same  black  wooden  arms  to  point  the  way, 
and  there  are  the  same  storm-refuges  here  and  there;  and 
there  is  the  same  snow  falling  at  the  top,  and  there  are  the 
same  frosty  mists,  and  there  is  the  same  intensely  cold  con- 
vent with  its  menagerie  smell,  and  the  same  breed  of  dogs  fast 
dying  out,  and  the  same  breed  of  jolly  young  monks  whom 
I mourn  to  know  as  humbugs,  and  the  same  convent  parlor 
with  its  piano  and  the  sitting  round  the  fire,  and  the  same 


LYING  AWAKE. 


233 


supper,  and  the  same  lone  night  in  a cell,  and  the  same  bright 
fresh  morning  when  going  out  into  the  highly  rarefied  air  was 
like  a plunge  into  an  icy  bath.  Now,  see  here  what  comes 
along ; and  why  does  this  thing  stalk  into  my  mind  on  the  top 
of  a Swiss  mountain  ! 

It  is  a figure  that  I once  saw,  just  after  dark,  chalked  upon 
a door  in  a little  back  lane  near  a country  church  — my  first 
church.  How  young  a child  I may  have  been  at  the  time  I 
don’t  know,  but  it  horrified  me  so  intensely  — in  connection 
with  the  churchyard,  I suppose,  for  it  smokes  a pipe,  and  has 
a big  hat  with  each  of  its  ears  sticking  out  in  a horizontal  line 
under  the  brim,  and  is  not  in  itself  more  oppressive  than  a 
mouth  from  ear  to  ear,  a pair  of  goggle  eyes,  and  hands  like 
two  bunches  of  carrots,  five  in  each,  can  make  it  — that  it  is 
still  vaguely  alarming  to  me  to  recall  (as  I have  often  done 
before,  lying  awake)  the  running  home,  the  looking  behind, 
the  horror  of  its  following  me ; though  whether  disconnected 
from  the*  door,  or  door  and  all,  I can’t  say,  and  perhaps  never 
could.  It  lays  a disagreeable  train.  I must  resolve  to  think 
of  something  on  the  voluntary  principle. 

The  balloon  ascents  of  this  last  season.  They  will  do  to 
think  about,  while  I lie  awake,  as  well  as  anything  else.  I 
must  hold  them  tight  though,  for  I feel  them  sliding  away, 
and  in  their  stead  are  the  Mannings,  husband  and  wife,  hang- 
ing on  the  top  of  Horsemonger  Lane  Jail.  In  connection  with 
which  dismal  spectacle,  I recall  this  curious  fantasy  of  the 
mind.  That,  having  beheld  that  execution,  and  having  left 
those  two  forms  dangling  on  the  top  of  the  entrance  gateway 
— the  man’s,  a limp,  loose  suit  of  clothes  as  if  the  man  had 
gone  out  of  them ; the  woman’s,  a fine  shape,  so  elaborately 
corseted  and  artfully  dressed,  that  it  was  quite  unchanged  in 
its  trim  appearance  as  it  slowly  swung  from  side  to  side  — I 
never  could,  by  my  utmost  efforts,  for  some  weeks,  present  the 
outside  of  that  prison  to  myself  (which  the  terrible  impression 
I had  received  continually  obliged  me  to  do)  without  present- 
ing it  with  the  two  figures  still  hanging  in  the  morning  air. 
Until,  strolling  past  the  gloomy  place  one  night,  when  the 
street  was  deserted  and  quiet,  and  actually  seeing  that  the 
bodies  were  not  there,  my  fancy  was  persuaded,  as  it  were*  to 


234 


LYING  AWAKE. 


take  them  down  and  bury  them  within  the  precincts  of  the 
jail,  where  they  have  lain  ever  since. 

The  balloon  ascents  of  last  season.  Let  me  reckon  them  up. 
There  were  the  horse,  the  bull,  the  parachute,  and  the  tumbler 
hanging  on  — chiefly  by  his  toes,  I believe  — below  the  car. 
Very  wrong,  indeed,  and  decidedly  to  be  stopped.  But,  in  con- 
nection with  these  and  similar  dangerous  exhibitions,  it  strikes 
me  that  that  portion  of  the  public  whom  they  entertain,  is 
justly  reproached.  Their  pleasure  is  in  the  difficulty  over- 
come. They  are  a public  of  great  faith,  and  are  quite  confi- 
dent that  the  gentleman  will  not  fall  off  the  horse,  or  the  lady 
off  the  bull  or  out  of  the  parachute,  and  that  the  tumbler  has 
a firm  hold  with  his  toes.  They  do  not  go  to  see  the  adven- 
turer vanquished,  but  triumphant.  There  is  no  parallel  in 
public  combats  between  men  and  beasts,  because  nobody  can 
answer  for  the  particular  beast — unless  it  were  always  the 
same  beast,  in  which  case  it  would  be  a mere  stage-show, 
which  the  same  public  would  go  in  the  same  state  of  mind  to 
see,  entirely  believing  in  the  brute  being  beforehand  safely 
subdued  by  the  man.  That  they  are  not  accustomed  to  calcu- 
late hazards  and  dangers  with  any  nicety,  we  may  know  from 
their  rash  exposure  of  themselves  in  overcrowded  steamboats, 
and  unsafe  conveyances  and  places  of  all  kinds.  And  I cannot 
help  thinking  that  instead  of  railing,  and  attributing  savage 
motives  to  a people  naturally  well  disposed  and  humane,  it  is 
better  to  teach  them,  and  lead  them  argumentatively  and  rea- 
sonably — for  they  are  very  reasonable,  if  you  will  discuss  a 
matter  with  them  — to  more  considerate  and  wise  conclusions. 

This  is  a disagreeable  intrusion ! Here  is  a man  with  his 
throat  cut,  dashing  towards  me  as  I lie  awake  ! A recollection 
of  an  old  story  of  ^ kinsman  of  mine,  who,  going  home  one 
foggy  winter  night  to  Hampstead,  when  London  was  much 
smaller  and  the  road  lonesome,  suddenly  encountered  such  a 
figure  rushing  past  him,  and  presently  two  keepers  from  a 
madhouse  in  pursuit.  A very  unpleasant  creature  indeed,  to 
come  into  my  mind  unbidden,  as  I lie  awake. 

— The  balloon  ascents  of  last  season.  I must  return  to  the 
balloons.  Why  did  the  bleeding  man  start  out  of  them  ? * 
Never  mind ; if  I inquire,  he  will  be  back  again.  The  balloons. 


LYING  AWAKE . 


235 


This  particular  public  have  inherently  a great  pleasure  in  the 
contemplation  of  physical  difficulties  overcome ; mainly,  as  I 
take  it,  because  the  lives  of  a large  majority  of  them  are 
exceedingly  monotonous  and  real,  and  further,  are  a struggle 
against  continual  difficulties,  and  further  still,  because  any- 
thing in  the  form  of  accidental  injury,  or  any  kind  of  illness 
or  disability,  is  so  very  serious  in  their  own  sphere.  I will 
explain  this  seeming  paradox  of  mine.  Take  the  case  of  a 
Christmas  Pantomime.  Surely  nobody  supposes  that  the 
young  mother  in  the  pit  who  falls  into  fits  of  laughter  when 
the  baby  is  boiled  or  sat  upon,  would  be  at  all  diverted  by 
such  an  occurrence  off  the  stage.  Nor  is  the  decent  workman 
in  the  gallery,  who  is  transported  beyond  the  ignorant  present 
by  the  delight  with  which  he  sees  a stout  gentleman  pushed 
out  of  a two  pair  of  stairs  window,  to  be  slandered  by  the  sus- 
picion that  he  would  be  in  the  least  entertained  by  such  a 
spectacle  in  any  street  in  London,  Paris,  or  New  York.  It 
always  appears  to  me  that  the  secret  of  this  enjoyment  lies 
in  the  temporary  superiority  to  the  common  hazards  and  mis- 
chances of  life ; in  seeing  casualties,  attended  when  they  really 
occur  with  bodily  and  mental  suffering,  tears,  and  poverty, 
happen  through  a very  rough  sort  of  poetry  without  the  least 
harm  being  done  to  any  one  — the  pretence  of  distress  in  a 
pantomime  being  so  broadly  humorous  as  to  be  no  pretence  at 
all.  Much  as  in  the  comic  fiction  I can  understand  the 
mother  with  a very  vulnerable  baby  at  home,  greatly  relishing 
the  invulnerable  baby  on  the  stage,  so  in  the  Cremorne  reality 
I can  understand  the  mason  who  is  always  liable  to  fall  off  a 
scaffold  in  his  working  jacket  and  to  be  carried  to  the  hospital, 
having  an  infinite  admiration  of  the  radiant  personage  in 
spangles  who  goes  into  the  clouds  upon  a bull,  or  upside  down, 
and  who,  he  takes  it  for  granted  — not  reflecting  upon  the 
thing  — has,  by  uncommon  skill  and  dexterity,  conquered  such 
mischances  as  those  to  which  he  and  his  acquaintance  are 
continually  exposed.* 

I wish  the  Morgue  in  Paris  would  not  come  here  as  I lie 
awake,  with  its  ghastly  beds,  and  the  swollen  saturated 
clothes  hanging  up,  and  the  water  dripping,  dripping  all  day 
long,  upon  that  other  swollen  saturated  something  in  the 


236 


LYING  AWAKE. 


corner,  like  a heap  of  crushed  over-ripe  figs  that  I have  seen 
in  Italy ! And  this  detestable  Morgue  conies  back  again  at 
the  head  of  a procession  of  forgotten  ghost  stories.  This  will 
never  do.  I must  think  of  something  else  as  I lie  awake ; or, 
like  that  sagacious  animal  in  the  United  States  who  recognized 
the  colonel  who  was  such  a dead  shot,  I am  a gone  ’Coon. 
What  shall  I think  of  ? The  late  brutal  assaults.  Very  good 
subject.  The  late  brutal  assaults. 

(Though  whether,  supposing  I should  see,  here  before  me 
as  I lie  awake,  the  awful  phantom  described  in  one  of  those 
ghost  stories,  who,  with  a head-dress  of  shroud,  was  always 
seen  looking  in  through  a certain  glass  door  at  a certain  dead 
hour  — whether,  in  such  a case  it  would  be  the  least  consola- 
tion to  me  to  know  on  philosophical  grounds  that  it  was 
merely  my  imagination,  is  a question  I can’t  help  asking  my- 
self by  the  way.) 

The  late  brutal  assaults.  I strongly  question  the  expediency 
of  advocating  the  revival  of  whipping  for  those  crimes.  It  is 
a natural  and  generous  impulse  to  be  indignant  at  the  perpe- 
tration of  inconceivable  brutality,  but  I doubt  the  whipping 
panacea  gravely.  Not  in  the  least  regard  or  pity  for  the 
criminal,  whom  I hold  in  far  lower  estimation  than  a mad  wolf, 
but  in  consideration  for  the  general  tone  and  feeling,  which  is 
very  much  improved  since  the  whipping  times.  It  is  bad  for 
a people  to  be  familiarized  with  such  punishments.  When  the 
whip  went  out  of  Bridewell,  and  ceased  to  be  flourished  at  the 
cart’s  tail  and  at  the  wliipping-post,  it  began  to  fade  out  of 
madhouses,  and  workhouses,  and  schools,  and  families,  and  to 
give  place  to  a better  system  everywhere  than  cruel  driving. 
It  would  be  hasty,  because  a few  brutes  may  be  inadequately 
punished,  to  revive,  in  any  aspect,  what,  in  so  many  aspects, 
society  is  hardly  yet  happily  rid  of.  The  whip  is  a very  con- 
tagious kind  of  thing,  and  difficult  to  confine  within  one  set  of 
bounds.  Utterly  abolish  punishment  by  fine  — a barbarous 
device,  quite  as  much  out  of  date  as  wager  by  battle,  but  par- 
ticularly connected  in  the  vulgar  mind  with  this  class  of 
offence  — at  least  quadruple  the  term  of  imprisonment  for 
aggravated  assaults  — and  above  all  let  us,  in  such  cases,  have 
no  Pet  Prisoning,  vain-glorifying,  strong  soup,  and  roasted 


LYING  AWAKE. 


237 


meats,  but  hard  work,  and  one  unchanging  and  uncompromis- 
ing dietary  of  bread  and  water,  well  or  ill ; and  we  shall  do 
much  better  than  by  going  down  into  the  dark  to  grope  for 
the  whip  among  the  rusty  fragments  of  the  rack,  and  the 
branding  iron,  and  the  chains  and  gibbet  from  the  public 
roads,  and  the  weights  that  pressed  men  to  death  in  the  cells 
of  Newgate. 

I had  proceeded  thus  far,  when  I found  I had  been  lying 
awake  so  long  that  the  very  dead  began  to  wake  too,  and  to 
crowd  into  my  thoughts  most  sorrowfully.  Therefore  I re- 
solved to  lie  awake  no  more,  but  to  get  up  and  go  out  for  a 
night  walk  — which  resolution  was  an  acceptable  relief  to  me, 
as  I dare  say  it  may  prove  now  to  a great  many  more. 


THE  POOR  RELATION’S  STORY. 


He  was  very  reluctant  to  take  precedence  of  so  many 
respected  members  of  the  family,  by  beginning  the  round  of 
stories  they  were  to  relate  as  they  sat  in  a goodly  circle  by 
the  Christmas  fire  ; and  he  modestly  suggested  that  it  would 
be  more  correct  if  “ J ohn  our  esteemed  host 99  (whose  health 
he  begged  to  drink)  would  have  the  kindness  to  begin. 
Tor  as  to  himself,  he  said,  he  was  so  little  used  to  lead 
the  way  that  really — But  as  they  all  cried  out  here, 
that  he  must  begin,  and  agreed  with  one  voice  that  he  might, 
could,  would,  and  should  begin,  he  left  off  rubbing  his  hands, 
and  took  his  legs  out  from  under  his  arm-chair,  and  did 
begin. 

I have  no  doubt  (said  the  poor  relation)  that  I shall  surprise 
the  assembled  members  of  our  family,  and  particularly  John 
our  esteemed  host  to  whom  we  are  so  much  indebted  for  the 
great  hospitality  with  which  he  has  this  day  entertained  us, 
by  the  confession  I am  going  to  make.  But,  if  you  do  me 
the  honor  to  be  surprised  at  anything  that  falls  from  a person 
so  unimportant  in  the  family  as  I am,  I can  only  say  that  I 
shall  be  scrupulously  accurate  in  all  I relate. 

I am  not  what  I am  supposed  to  be.  I am  quite  another 
thing.  Perhaps  before  I go  further,  I had  better  glance  at 
what  I am  supposed  to  be. 

It  is  supposed,  unless  I mistake  — the  assembled  members 
of  our  family  will  correct  me  if  I do,  which  is  very  likely 
(here  the  poor  relation  looked  mildly  about  him  for  contra- 
diction) ; that  I am  nobody’s  enemy  but  my  own.  That  I 
never  met  with  any  particular  success  in  anything.  That  I 
failed  in  business  because  I was  unbusiness-like  and  credulous 
— in  not  being  prepared  for  the  interested  designs  of  my 
partner.  That  I failed  in  love,  because  I was  ridiculously 

238 


THE  POOR  RELATION'S  STORY. 


239 


trustful  — in  thinking  it  impossible  that  Christiana  could 
deceive  me.  That  I failed  in  my  expectations  from  my  uncle 
Chill,  on  account  of  not  being  as  sharp  as  he  could  have 
wished  in  worldly  matters.  That,  through  life,  I have  been 
rather  put  upon  and  disappointed,  in  a general  way.  That  I 
am  at  present  a bachelor  of  between  fifty-nine  and  sixty  years 
of  age,  living  on  a limited  income  in  the  form  of  a quarterly 
allowance,  to  which  I see  that  John  our  esteemed  host  wishes 
me  to  make  no  further  allusion. 

The  supposition  as  to  my  present  pursuits  and  habits  is  to 
the  following  effect. 

I live  in  a lodging  in  the  Clapham  Road  — a very  clean 
back  room,  in  a very  respectable  house  — where  I am  expected 
not  to  be  at  home  in  the  day-time,  unless  poorly ; and  which  I 
usually  leave  in  the  morning  at  nin^  o’clock,  on  pretence  of 
going  to  business.  I take  my  breakfast  — my  roll  and  butter, 
and  my  half-pint  of  coffee  — at  the  old  established  coffee-shop 
near  Westminster  Bridge;  and  then  I go  into  the  City  — I 
don’t  know  why  — and  sit  in  Garraway’s  Coffee  House,  and 
on  ’Change,  and  walk  about,  and  look  into  a few  offices  and 
counting-houses  where  some  of  my  relations  or  acquaintance 
are  so  good  as  to  tolerate  me,  and  where  I stand  by  the  fire 
if  the  weather  happens  to  be  cold.  I get  through  the  day  in 
this  way  until  five  o’clock,  and  then  I dine  : at  a cost,  on  the 
average,  of  one  and  threepence.  Having  still  a little  money 
to  spend  on  my  evening’s  entertainment,  I look  into  the  old- 
established  coffee-shop  as  I go  home,  and  take  my  cup  of  tea, 
and  perhaps  my  bit  of  toast.  So,  as  the  large  hand  of  the 
clock  makes  its  way  round  to  the  morning  hour  again,  I 
make  my  way  round  to  the  Clapham  Road  again,  and  go  to  bed 
when  I get  to  my  lodging  — fire  being  expensive,  and  being 
objected  to  by  the  family  on  account  of  its  giving  trouble  and 
making  a dirt. 

Sometimes,  one  of  my  relations  or  acquaintances  is  so 
obliging  as  to  ask  me  to  dinner.  Those  are  holiday  occasions, 
and  then  I generally  walk  in  the  Park.  I am  a solitary  man, 
and  seldom  walk  with  anybody.  Not  that  I am  avoided 
because  I am  shabby ; for  I am  not  at  all  shabby,  having 
always  a very  good  suit  of  black  on  (or  rather  Oxford 


240 


THE  POOR  RELATION'S  STORY. 


mixture,  which  has  the  appearance  of  black  and  wears  much 
better)  ; but  I have  got  into  a habit  of  speaking  low,  and 
being  rather  silent,  and  my  spirits  are  not  high,  and  I am 
sensible  that  I am  not  an  attractive  companion. 

The  only  exception  to  this  general  rule  is  the  child  of  my 
first  cousin,  Little  Frank.  I have  a particular  affection  for 
that  child,  and  he  takes  very  kindly  to  me.  Fie  is  a diffident 
boy  by  nature ; and  in  a crowd  he  is  soon  run  over,  as  I may 
say,  and  forgotten.  He  and  I,  however,  get  on  exceedingly 
well.  I have  a fancy  that  the  poor  child  will  in  time  succeed 
to  my  peculiar  position  in  the  family.  We  talk  but  little ; 
still,  we  understand  each  other.  We  walk  about,  hand  in 
hand;  and  without  much  speaking  he  knows  what  I mean, 
and  I know  what  he  means.  When  he  was  very  little  indeed, 
1 used  to  take  him  to  the  windows  of  the  toy-shops,  and  show 
him  the  toys  inside.  It  is  surprising  how  soon  he  found  out 
that  I could  have  made  him  a great  many  presents  if  I had 
been  in  circumstances  to  do  it. 

Little  Frank  and  I go  and  look  at  the  outside  of  the  Monu- 
ment — he  is  very  fond  of  the  Monument  — and  at  the  Bridges, 
and  at  all  the  sights  that  are  free.  On  two  of  my  birthdays, 
we  have  dined  on  a-la-mode  beef,  and  gone  at  half-price  to  the 
play,  and  been  deeply  interested.  I was  once  walking  with 
him  in  Lombard  Street,  which  we  often  visit  on  account  of 
my  having  mentioned  to  him  that  there  are  great  riches  there 
— he  is  very  fond  of  Lombard  Street  — when  a gentleman  said 
to  me  as  he  passed  by,  “ Sir,  your  little  son  has  dropped  his 
glove.”  I assure  you,  if  you  will  excuse  my  remarking  on 
so  trivial  a circumstance,  this  accidental  mention  of  the  child 
as  mine,  quite  touched  my  heart  and  brought  the  foolish  tears 
into  my  eyes. 

When  Little  Frank  is  sent  to  school  in  the  country,  I shall 
be  very  much  at  a loss  what  to  do  with  myself,  but  I have 
the  intention  of  walking  down  there  once  a month  and  seeing 
him  on  a half  holiday.  I am  told  he  will  then  be  at  play 
upon  the  Heath;  and  if  my  visits  should  be  objected  to,  as 
unsettling  the  child,  I can  see  him  from  a distance  without 
his  seeing  me,  and  walk  back  again.  His  mother  comes  of  a 
highly  genteel  family,  and  rather  disapproves,  I am  aware,  of 


THE  POOB  BELATIOH'S  STOBY. 


241 


our  being  too  much  together.  I know  that  I am  not  calculated 
to  improve  his  retiring  disposition;  but  I think  he  would 
miss  me  beyond  the  feeling  of  the  moment,  if  we  were  wholly 
separated. 

When  I die  in  the  Clapham  Road,  I shall  not  leave  much 
more  in  this  world  than  I shall  take  out  of  it ; but,  I happen 
to  have  a miniature  of  a bright-faced  boy,  with  a curling  head, 
and  an  open  shirt-frill  waving  down  his  bosom  (my  mother 
had  it  taken  for  me,  but  I can’t  believe  that  it  was  ever  like), 
which  will  be  worth  nothing  to  sell,  and  which aI  shall  beg 
may  be  given  to  Frank.  I have  written  my  dear  boy  a little 
letter  with  it,  in  which  I have  told  him  that  I felt  very  sorry 
to  part  from  him,  though  bound  to  confess  that  I knew  no 
reason  why  I should  remain  here.  I have  given  him  some 
short  advice,  the  best  in  my  power,  to  take  warning  of  the 
consequences  of  being  nobody’s  enemy  but  his  own ; and  I 
have  endeavored  to  comfort  him  for  what  I fear  he  will 
consider  a bereavement,  by  pointing  out  to  him,  that  I was 
only  a superfluous  something  to  every  one  but  him ; and  that 
having  by  some  means  failed  to  find  a place  in  this  great 
assembly,  I am  better  out  of  it. 

Such  (said  the  poor  relation,  clearing  his  throat  and  begin- 
ning to  speak  a little  louder)  is  the  general  impression  about 
me.  Now,  it  is  a remarkable  circumstance  which  forms  the 
aim  and  purpose  of  my  story,  that  this  is  all  wrong.  This 
is  not  my  life,  and  these  are  not  my  habits.  I do  not  even  live 
in  the  Clapham  Road.  Comparatively  speaking,  I am  very 
seldom  there.  I reside,  mostly,  in  a — I am  almost  ashamed 
to  say  the  word,  it  sounds  so  full  of  pretension  — in  a Castle. 
I do  not  mean  that  it  is  an  old  baronial  habitation,  but  still  it 
is  a r building  always  known  to  every  one  by  the  name  of  a 
Castle.  In  it,  I preserve  the  particulars  of  my  history ; they 
run  thus  : 

It  was  when  I first  took  J ohn  Spatter  (who  had  been  my 
clerk)  into  partnership,  and  when  I was  still  a young  man  of 
not  more  than  five-and-twenty,  residing  in  the  house  of  my 
uncle  Chill  from  whom  I had  considerable  expectations,  that  I 
ventured  to  propose  to  Christiana.  I had  loved  Christiana,  a 
long  time.  She  was  very  beautiful,  and  very  winning  in  all 

VOL.  II — 16 


242 


THE  POOR  RELATION' S STORY. 


respects.  I rather  mistrusted  her  widowed  mother,  who  I 
feared  was  of  a plotting  and  mercenary  turn  of  mind ; but,  I 
thought  as  well  of  her  as  I could,  for  Christiana’s  sake.  I 
never  had  loved  any  one  but  Christiana,  and  she  had  been  all 
the  world,  and  0 far  more  than  all  the  world,  to  me,  from  our 
childhood ! 

Christiana  accepted  me  with  her  mother’s  consent,  and  I was 
rendered  very  happy  indeed.  My  life  at  my  uncle  Chill’s  was 
of  a spare  dull  kind,  and  my  garret  chamber  was  as  dull,  and 
bare,  and  cold,  as  an  upper  prison  room  in  some  stern  northern 
fortress.  But,  having  Christiana’s  love,  I wanted  nothing 
upon  earth.  I would  not  have  changed  my  lot  with  any 
human  being. 

Avarice  was,  unhappily,  my  uncle  Chill’s  master-vice. 
Though  he  was  rich,  he  pinched,  and  scraped,  and  clutched, 
and  lived  miserably.  As  Christiana  had  no  fortune,  I was  for 
some  time  a little  fearful  of  confessing  our  engagement  to 
him ; but,  at  length  I wrote  him  a letter,  saying  how  it  all 
truly  was.  I put  it  into  his  hand  one  night,  on  going  to 
bed. 

As  I came  down  stairs  next  morning,  shivering  in  the  cold 
December  air ; colder  in  my  uncle’s  unwarmed  house  than  in 
the  street,  where  the  winter  sun  did  sometimes  shine,  and 
which  was  at  all  events  enlivened  by  cheerful  faces  and  voices 
passing  along ; I carried  a heavy  heart  towards  the  long,  low 
breakfast-room  in  which  my  uncle  sat.  It  was  a large  room 
with  a small  fire,  and  there  was  a great  bay  window  in  it 
which  the  rain  had  marked  in  the  night  as  if  with  the  tears 
of  houseless  people.  It  stared  upon  a raw  yard,  with  a 
cracked  stone  pavement,  and  some  rusted  iron  railings  half 
uprooted,  whence  an  ugly  out-building  that  had  once  been  a 
dissecting-room  (in  the  time  of  the  great  surgeon  who  had 
mortgaged  the  house  to  my  uncle),  stared  at  it. 

We  rose  so  early  always,  that  at  that  time  of  the  year  we 
breakfasted  by  candle-light.  When  I went  into  the  room,  my 
uncle  was  so  contracted  by  the  cold,  and  so  huddled  together 
in  his  chair  behind  the  one  dim  candle,  that  I did  not  see  him 
until  I was  close  to  the  table. 

As  I held  out  my  hand  to  him,  he  caught  up  his  stick 


THE  POOR  RELATION'S  STORY. 


243 


(being  infirm,  he  always  walked  about  the  house  with  a stick) , 
and  made  a blow  at  me,  and  said,  “ You  fool ! ” 

“Uncle,”  I returned,  “I  didn’t  expect  you  to  be  so  angry 
as  this.”  Nor  had  I expected  it,  though  he  was  a hard  and 
angry  old  man. 

“ You  didn’t  expect ! ” said  he ; “when  did  you  ever  expect  ? 
When  did  you  ever  calculate,  or  look  forward,  you  contempt- 
ible dog?” 

“ These  are  hard  words,  uncle  ! ” 

“ Hard  words  ? Feathers,,  to  pelt  such  an  idiot  as  you 
with,”  said  he.  “ Here  ! Betsy  Snap  ! Look  at  him  ! ” 

Betsy  Snap  was  a withered,  hard-favored,  yellow  old  woman 
— our  only  domestic  — always  employed,  at  this  time  of  the 
morning,  in  rubbing  my  uncle’s  legs.  As  my  uncle  adjured 
her  to  look  at  me,  he  put  his  lean  grip  on  the  crown  of  her 
head,  she  kneeling  beside  him,  and  turned  her  face  towards 
me.  An  involuntary  thought  connecting  them  both  with  the 
Dissecting  Boom,  as  it  must  often  have  been  in  the  surgeon’s 
time,  passed  across  my  mind  in  the  midst  of  my  anxiety. 

“Look  at  the  snivelling  milksop  !”  said  my  uncle.  “Look 
at  the  baby!  This  is  the  gentleman  who,  people  say,  is 
nobody’s  enemy  but  his  own.  - This  is  the  gentleman  who 
can’t  say  no.  This  is  the  gentleman  who  was  making  such 
large  profits  in  his  business  that  he  must  needs  take  a partner, 
t’other  day.  This  is  the  gentleman  who  is  going  to  marry  a 
wife  without  a penny,  and  who  falls  into  the  hands  of  Jezebels 
who  are  speculating  on  my  death  ! ” 

I knew,  now,  how  great  my  uncle’s  rage  was ; for  nothing 
short  of  his  being  almost  beside  himself  would  have  induced 
him  to  utter  that  concluding  word,  which  he  held  in  such 
repugnance  that  it  was  never  spoken  or  hinted  at  before  him 
on  any  account. 

“ On  my  death,”  he  repeated,  as  if  he  were  defying  me  by 
defying  his  own  abhorrence  of  the  word.  “ On  my  death  — 
death  — Death  ! But  I’ll  spoil  the  speculation.  Eat  your  last 
under  this  roof,  you  feeble  wretch,  and  may  it  choke  you  ! ” 

You  may  suppose  that  I had  not  much  appetite  for  the 
breakfast  to  which  I was  bidden  in  these  terms ; but,  I took 
my  accustomed  seat.  I saw  that  I was  repudiated  henceforth 


244 


THE  POOR  RELATION'S  STORY . 


by  my  uncle ; still  I could  bear  that  very  well,  possessing 
Christiana’s  heart. 

He  emptied  his  basin  of  bread  and  milk  as  usual,  only  that 
he  took  it  on  his  knees  with  his  chair  turned  away  from  the 
table  where  I sat.  When  he  had  done,  he  carefully  snuffed 
out  the  candle;  and  the  cold,  slate-colored,  miserable  day 
looked  in  upon  us. 

“low,  Mr.  Michael,”  said  he,  “ before  we  part,  I should  like 
to  have  a word  with  these  ladies  in  your  presence.” 

“ As  you  will,  sir,”  I returned ; “ but  you  deceive  yourself, 
and  wrong  us,  cruelly,  if  you  suppose  that  there  is  any  feeling 
at  stake  in  this  contract  but  pure,  disinterested,  faithful  love.” 
To  this  he  only  replied,  “ You  lie  ! ” and  not  one  other  word. 
We  went,  through  half-thawed  snow  and  half-frozen  rain,  to 
the  house  where  Christiana  and  her  mother  lived.  My  uncle 
knew  them  very  well.  They  were  sitting  at  their  breakfast 
and  were  surprised  to  see  us  at  that  hour. 

“Your  servant,  ma’am,”  said  my  uncle  to  the  mother. 
“ You  divine  the  purpose  of  my  visit,  I dare  say,  ma’am.  I 
understand  there  is  a world  of  pure,  disinterested,  faithful 
love  cooped  up  here.  I am  happy  to  bring  it  all  it  wants,  to 
make  it  complete.  I bring  you  your  son-in-law,  ma’am  — and 
you,  your  husband,  miss.  The  gentleman  is  a perfect  stranger 
to  me,  but  I wish  him  joy  of  his  wise  bargain.” 

He  snarled  at  me  as  he  went  out,  and  I never  saw  him 
again. 

It  is  altogether  a mistake  (continued  the  poor  relation)  to 
suppose  that  my  dear  Christiana,  over-persuaded  and  influenced 
by  her  mother,  married  a rich  man,  the  dirt  from  whose  car- 
riage wheels  is  often,  in  these  changed  times,  thrown  upon  me 
as  she  rides  by.  No,  no.  She  married  me. 

The  way  we  came  to  be  married  rather  sooner  than  we 
intended,  was  this.  I took  a frugal  lodging  and  was  saving 
and  planning  for  her  sake,  when,  one  day,  she  spoke  to  me 
with  great  earnestness,  and  said : 

“ My  dear  Michael,  I have  given  you  my  heart.  I have 
said  that  I loved  you,  and  I have  pledged  myself  to  be  your 
wife.  I am  as  much  yours  through  all  changes  of  good  and 


THE  POOR  RELATION'S  STORY. 


245 


evil  as  if  we  had  been  married  on  the  day  when  such  words 
passed  between  us.  I know  you  well,  and  know  that  if  we 
should  be  separated  and  our  union  broken  off,  your  whole  life 
would  be  shadowed,  and  all  that  might,  even  now,  be  stronger 
in  your  character  for  the  conflict  with  the  world  would  then 
be  weakened  to  the  shadow  of  what  it  is ! ” 

“God  help  me,  Christiana ! ” said  I.  “You  speak  the 
truth.” 

“ Michael ! ” said  she,  putting  her  hand  in  mine,  in  all 
maidenly  devotion,  “let  us  keep  apart  no  longer.  It  is  but 
for  me  to  say  that  I can  live  contented  upon  such  means  as 
you  have,  and  I well  know  you  are  happy.  I say  so  from  my 
heart.  Strive  no  more  alone ; let  us  strive  together.  My 
dear  Michael,  it  is  not  right  that  I should  keep  secret  from 
you  what  you  do  not  suspect,  but  what  distresses  my  whole 
life.  My  mother:  without  considering  that  what  you  have 
lost,  you  have  lost  for  me,  and  on  the  assurance  of  my  faith  : 
sets  her  heart  on  riches,  and  urges  another  suit  upon  me,  to 
my  misery.  I cannot  bear  this,  for  to  bear  it  is  to  be  untrue 
to  you.  I would  rather  share  your  struggles  than  look  on.  I 
want  no  better  home  than  you  can  give  me.  I know  that 
you  will  aspire  and  labor  with  a higher  courage  if  I am  wholly 
yours,  and  let  it  be  so  when  you  will ! ” 

I was  blest  indeed,  that  day,  and  a new  world  opened  to  me. 
We  were  married  in  a very  little  while,  and  I took  my  wife  to 
our  happy  home.  That  was  the  beginning  of  the  residence  I 
have  spoken  of;  the  Castle  we  have  ever  since  inhabited 
together,  dates  from  that  time.  All  our  children  have  been 
born  in  it.  Our  first  child  — now  married  — was  a little  girl, 
whom  we  called  Christiana.  Her  son  is  so  like  Little  Frank, 
that  I hardly  know  which  is  which. 

The  current  impression  as  to  my  partner’s  dealings  with  me 
is  also  quite  erroneous.  He  did  not  begin  to  treat  me  coldly, 
as  a poor  simpleton,  when  my  uncle  and  I so  fatally  quarrelled  ; 
nor  did  he  afterwards  gradually  possess  himself  of  our  business 
and  edge  me  out.  On  the  contrary,  he  behaved  to  me  with 
the  utmost  good  faith  and  honor. 

Matters  between  us,  took  this  turn : — On  the  day  of  my 


246 


THE  POOR  RELATION'S  STORY. 


separation  from  my  uncle,  and  even  before  the  arrival  at  onr 
counting-house  of  my  trunks  (which  he  sent  after  me,  not 
carriage  paid),  I went  down  to  our  room  of  business,  on  our 
little  wharf,  overlooking  the  river;  and  there  I told  John 
Spatter  what  had  happened.  John  did  not  say, -in  reply,  that 
rich  old  relatives  were  palpable  facts,  and  that  love  and  senti- 
ment were  moonshine  and  fiction.  He  addressed  me  thus  : 

“Michael,”  said  John.  “We  were  at  school  together,  and 
I generally  had  the  knack  of  getting  on  better  than  you,  and 
making  a higher  reputation.” 

“You  had,  John,”  I returned. 

“Although,”  said  John,  “I  borrowed  your  books  and  lost 
them ; borrowed  your  pocket-money,  and  never  repaid  it ; got 
you  to  buy  my  damaged  knives  at  a higher  price  than  I had 
given  for  them  new ; and  to  own  to  the  windows  that  I had 
broken.” 

“All  not  worth  mentioning,  John  Spatter,”  said  I,  “but 
certainly  true.” 

“ When  you  were  first  established  in  this  infant  business, 
which  promises  to  thrive  so  well,”  pursued  John,  “I  came  to 
you,  in  my  search  for  almost  any  employment,  and  you  made 
me  your  clerk.” 

“Still  not  worth  mentioning,  my  dear  John  Spatter,”  said 
I ; “ still,  equally  true.” 

“ And  finding  that  I had  a good  head  for  business,  and  that 
I was  really  useful  to  the  business,  you  did  not  like  to  retain 
me  in  that  capacity,  and  thought  it  an  act  of  justice  soon  to 
make  me  your  partner.” 

“ Still  less  worth  mentioning  than  any  of  those  other  little 
circumstances  you  have  recalled,  J ohn  Spatter,”  said  I ; “ for 
I was,  and  am,  sensible  of  your  merits  and  my  deficiencies.” 

“Now  my  good  friend,”  said  John,  drawing  my  arm  through 
his,  as  he  had  had  a habit  of  doing  at  school ; while  two  vessels 
outside  the  windows  of  our  counting-house  — which  were 
shaped  like  the  stern  windows  of  a ship  — - went  lightly  down 
the  river  with  the  tide,  as  John  and  I might  then  be  sailing 
away  in  company,  and  in  trust  and  confidence,  on  our  voyage 
of  life;  “let  there,  under  these  friendly  circumstances,  be  a 
right  understanding  between  us.  You  are  too  easy,  Michael. 


THE  POOR  RELATION'S  STORY . 


247 


You  are  nobody’s  enemy  but  your  own.  If  I were  to  give  you 
that  damaging  character  among  our  connection,  with  a shrug, 
and  a shake  of  the  head,  and  a sigh;  and  if  I were  further 
to  abuse  the  trust  you  place  in  me  — ” 

“ But  you  never  will  abuse  it  at  all,  John,”  I observed. 

“Never!”  said  he,  “but  I am  putting  a case  — I say,  and 
if  I were  further  to  abuse  that  trust  by  keeping  this  piece  of 
our  common  affairs  in  the  dark,  and  this  other  piece  in  the 
light,  and  again  this  other  piece  in  the  twilight,  and  so  on,  I 
should  strengthen  my  strength,  and  weaken  your  weakness,  day 
by  day,  until  at  last  I found  myself  on  the  high  road  to  for- 
tune, and  you  left  behind  on  some  bare  common,  a hopeless 
number  of  miles  out  of  the  way.” 

“ Exactly  so,”  said  I. 

“To  prevent  this,  Michael,”  said  John  Spatter,  “or  the 
remotest  chance  of  this,  there  must  be  perfect  openness  be- 
tween us.  Nothing  must  be  concealed,  and  we  must  have  but 
one  interest.” 

“ My  dear  J ohn  Spatter,”  I assured  him,  “ that  is  precisely 
what  I mean.” 

“ And  when  you  are  too  easy,”  pursued  John,  his  face  glow- 
ing with  friendship,  “you  must  allow  me  to  prevent  that 
imperfection  in  your  nature  from  being  taken  advantage  of, 
by  any  one ; you  must  not  expect  me  to  humor  it  — ” 

“My  dear  John  Spatter,”  I interrupted,  “I  don’t  expect 
you  to  humor  it.  I want  to  correct  it.” 

“ And  I,  too  ! ” said  John. 

“Exactly  so!”  cried  I.  “We  both  have  the  same  end  in 
view ; and,  honorably  seeking  it,  and  fully  trusting  one  an- 
other, and  having  but  one  interest,  ours  will  be  a prosperous 
and  happy  partnership.” 

“I  am  sure  of  it!  ” returned  John  Spatter.  And  we  shook 
hands  most  affectionately. 

I took  John  home  to  my  Castle,  and  we  had  a very  happy 
day.  Our  partnership  throve  well.  My  friend  and  partner 
supplied  what  I wanted,  as  I had  foreseen  that  he  would ; and 
by  improving  both  the  business  and  myself,  amply  acknowl- 
edged any  little  rise  in  life  to  which  I had  helped  him. 

I am  not  (said  the  poor  relation,  looking  at  the  lire  as  he 


248 


THE  POOR  RELATION'S  STORY . 


slowly  rubbed  his  hands) , very  rich,  for  I never  cared  to  be 
that ; but  I have  enough,  and  am  above  all  moderate  wants 
and  anxieties.  My  Castle  is  not  a splendid  place,  but  it  is 
very  comfortable,  and  it  has  a warm  and  cheerful  air,  and  is 
quite  a picture  of  Home. 

Our  eldest  girl,  who  is  very  like  her  mother,  married  John 
Spatter’s  eldest  son.  Our  two  families  are  closely  united  in 
other  ties  of  attachment.  It  is  very  pleasant  of  an  evening, 
when  we  are  all  assembled  together  — which  frequently  hap- 
pens— and  when  John  and  I talk  over  old  times,  and  the  one 
interest  there  has  always  been  between  us. 

I really  do  not  know,  in  my  Castle,  what  loneliness  is. 
Some  of  our  children  or  grandchildren  are  always  about  it, 
and  the  young  voices  of  my  descendants  are  delightful  — 0, 
how  delightful ! — to  me  to  hear.  My  dearest  and  most  devoted 
wife,  ever  faithful,  ever  loving,  ever  helpful  and  sustaining  and 
consoling,  is  the  priceless  blessing  of  my  house ; from  whom 
all  its  other  blessings  spring.  We  are  rather  a musical  family, 
and  when  Christiana  sees  me,  at  any  time,  a little  weary  or 
depressed,  she  steals  to  the  piano  and  sings  a gentle  air  she 
used  to  sing  when  we  were  first  betrothed.  So  weak  a man 
am  I,  that  I cannot  bear  to  hear  it  from  any  other  source. 
They  played  it  once,  at  the  Theatre,  when  I was  there  with 
Little  Frank ; and  the  child  said,  wondering,  “Cousin  Michael, 
whose  hot  tears  are  these  that  have  fallen  on  my  hand ! ” 

Such  is  my  Castle,  and  such  are  the  real  particulars  of  my 
life  therein  preserved.  I often  take  Little  Frank  home  there. 
He  is  very  welcome  to  my  grandchildren,  and  they  play  to- 
gether. At  this  time  of  the  year  — the  Christmas  and  New 
Year  time  — I am  seldom  out  of  my  Castle.  For,  the  associa- 
tions of  the  season  seem  to  hold  me  there,  and  the  precepts  of 
the  season  seem  to  teach  me  that  it  is  well  to  be  there. 

“ And  the  Castle  is  — ” observed  a grave,  kind  voice  among 
the  company. 

“Yes.  My  Castle,”  said  the  poor  relation,  shaking  his  head 
as  he  still  looked  at  the  fire,  “is  in  the  Air.  John  our  es- 
teemed host  suggests  its  situation  accurately.  My  Castle  is  in 
the  Air ! I have  done.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  pass  the 
story.” 


THE  CHILD’S  STORY. 


Once  upon  a time,  a good  many  years  ago,  there  was  a trav- 
eller, and  he  set  out  upon  a journey.  It  was  a magic  journey, 
and  was  to  seem  very  long  when  he  began  it,  and  very  short 
when  he  got  half  way  through. 

He  travelled  along  a rather  dark  path  for  some  little  time, 
without  meeting  anything,  until  at  last  he  came  to  a beautiful 
child.  So  he  said  to  the  child,  “ What  do  you  do  here  ? ” And 
the  child  said,  “ I am  always  at  play.  Come  and  play  with 
me  ! ” 

So,  he  played  with  that  child,  the  whole  day  long,  and  they 
were  very  merry.  The  sky  was  so  blue,  the  sun  was  so  bright, 
the  water  was  so  sparkling,  the  leaves  were  so  green,  the  flow- 
ers were  so  lovely,  and  they  heard  such  singing-birds  and  saw 
so  many  butterflies,  that  everything  was  beautiful.  This  was 
in  fine  weather.  When  it  rained,  they  loved  to  watch  the  fall- 
ing drops,  and  to  smell  the  fresh  scents.  When  it  blew,  it 
was  delightful  to  listen  to  the  wind,  and  fancy  what  it  said,  as 
it  came  rushing  from  its  home  — where  was  that,  they  won- 
dered ! — whistling  and  howling,  driving  the  clouds  before  it, 
bending  the  trees,  rumbling  in  the  chimneys,  shaking  the 
house,  and  making  the  sea  roar  in  fury.  But,  when  it  snowed, 
that  was  best  of  all ; for,  they  liked  nothing  so  well  as  to  look 
up  at  the  white  flakes  falling  fast  and  thick,  like  down  from 
the  breasts  of  millions  of  white  birds ; and  to  see  how  smooth 
and  deep  the  drift  was  ; and  to  listen  to  the  hush  upon  the 
paths  and  roads. 

They  had  plenty  of  the  finest  toys  in  the  world,  and  the 
most  astonishing  picture-books : all  about  scimitars  and  slip- 
pers and  turbans,  and  dwarfs  and  giants  and  genii  and  fairies, 
and  blue-beards  and  bean-stalks  and  riches  and  caverns  and 
forests  and  Valentines  and  Orsons : and  all  new  and  all  true. 

249 


250 


THE  CHILD'S  STOEY. 


But,  one  day,  of  a sudden,  the  traveller  lost  the  child.  He 
called  to  him  over  and  over  again,  but  got  no  answer.  So,  he 
went  upon  his  road,  and  went  on  for  a little  while  without 
meeting  anything,  until  at  last  he  came  to  a handsome  boy. 
So,  he  said  to  the  boy,  “ What  do  you  do  here  ? ” And  the 
boy  said,  “ 1 am  always  learning.  Come  and  learn  with  me.” 

So  he  learned  with  that  boy  about  Jupiter  and  Juno,  and 
the  Greeks  and  the  Romans,  and  I don’t  know  what,  and 
learned  more  than  I could  tell  — or  he  either,  for  he  soon  for- 
got a great  deal  of  it.  But,  they  were  not  always  learning ; 
they  had  the  merriest  games  that  ever  were  played.  They 
rowed  upon  the  river  in  summer,  and  skated  on  the  ice  in 
winter-;  they  were  active  afoot,  and  active  on  horseback;  at 
cricket,  and  all  games  at  ball;  at  prisoners’  base,  hare  and 
hounds,  follow  my  leader,  and  more  sports  than  I can  think 
of;  nobody  could  beat  them.  They  had  holidays  too,  and 
Twelfth  cakes,  and  parties  where  they  danced  till  midnight, 
and  real  Theatres  where  they  saw  palaces  of  real  gold  and 
silver  rise  out  of  the  real  earth,  and  saw  all  the  wonders 
of  the  world  at  once.  As  to  friends,  they  had  such  dear 
friends  and  so  many  of  them,  that  I want  the  time  to  reckon 
them  up.  They  were  all  young,  like  the  handsome  boy, 
and  were  never  to  be  strange  to  one  another  all  their  lives 
through. 

Still,  one  day,  in  the  midst  of  all  these  pleasures,  the 
traveller  lost  the  boy  as  he  had  lost  the  child,  and,  after  call- 
ing to  him  in  vain,  went  on  upon  his  journey.  So  he  went  on 
for  a little  while  without  seeing  anything,  until  at  last  he 
came  to  a young  man.  So,  he  said  to  the  young  man,  “What 
do  you  do  here  ? ” And  the  young  man  said,  “ I am  always 
in  love.  Come  and  love  with  me.” 

So,  he  went  away  with  that  young  man,  and  presently  they 
came  to  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  that  ever  was  seen — just- 
like  Fanny  in  the  corner  there  — and  she  had  eyes  like  Fanny, 
and  hair  like  Fanny,  and  dimples  like  Fanny’s,  and  she 
laughed  and  colored  just  as  Fanny  does  while  I am  talking 
about  her.  So,  the  young  man  fell  in  love  directly — just  as 
Somebody  I won’t  mention,  the  first  time  he  came  here,  did 
with  Fanny.  Well!  He  was  teased  sometimes  — just  as 


THE  CHILE'S  STOBY. 


251 


Somebody  used  to  be  by  Fanny ; and  they  quarrelled  some- 
times— just  as  Somebody  and  Fanny  used  to  quarrel;  and 
they  made  it  up,  and  sat  in  the  dark,  and  wrote  letters  every 
day,  and  never  were  happy  asunder,  and  were  always  looking 
out  for  one  another  and  pretending  not  to,  and  were  engaged 
at  Christmas  time,  and  sat  close  to  one  another  by  the  fire, 
and  were  going  to  be  married  very  soon  — all  exactly  like 
Somebody  I won’t  mention,  and  Fanny ! 

But,  the  traveller  lost  them  one  day,  as  he  had  lost  the  rest 
of  his  friends,  and,  after  calling  to  them  to  come  back,  which 
they  never  did,  went  on  upon  his  journey.  So,  he  went  on 
for  a little  while  without  seeing  anything,  until  at  last  he 
came  to  a middle-aged  gentleman.  So,  he  said  to  the  gentle- 
man, “ What  are  you  doing  here  ? ” And  his  answer  was,  “ I 
am  always  busy.  Come  and  be  busy  with  me  ! ” 

So,  he  began  to  be  very  busy  with  that  gentleman,  and  they 
went  on  through  the  wood  together.  The  whole  journey  was 
through  a wood,  only  it  had  been  open  and  green  at  first,  like 
a wood  in  Spring ; and  now  began  to  be  thick  and  dark,  like 
a wood  in  Summer ; some  of  the  little  trees  that  had  come  out 
earliest,  were  even  turning  brown.  The  gentleman  was  not 
alone,  but  had  a lady  of  about  the  same  age  with  him,  who 
was  his  Wife ; and  they  had  children,  who  were  with  them 
too.  So,  they  all  went  on  together  through  the  wood,  cutting 
down  the  trees,  and  making  a path  through  the  branches  and 
the  fallen  leaves,  and  carrying  burdens,  and  working  hard. 

Sometimes,  they  came  to  a long  green  avenue  that  opened 
into  deeper  woods.  Then  they  would  hear  a very  little  dis- 
tant voice  crying,  “ Father,  father,  I am  another  child ! Stop 
for  me  ! ” And  presently  they  would  see  a very  little  figure, 
growing  larger  as  it  came  along,  running  to  join  them.  When 
it  came  up,  they  all  crowded  round  it,  and  kissed  and  wel- 
comed it ; and  then  they  all  went  on  together. 

Sometimes,  they  came  to  several  avenues  at  once,  and  then 
they  all  stood  still,  and  one  of  the  children  said,  “ Father,  I 
am  going  to  sea,”  and  another  said,  “ Father,  I am  going  to 
India,”  and  another,  “ Father,  I am  going  to  seek  my  fortune 
where  I can,”  and  another,  “ Father,  I am  going  to  Heaven  ! ” 
So,  with  many  tears  at  parting,  they  went,  solitary,  down 


252 


THE  CHILD'S  STOBY. 


those  avenues,  each  child  upon  its  way ; and  the  child  who 
went  to  Heaven,  rose  into  the  golden  air  and  vanished. 

Whenever  these  partings  happened,  the  traveller  looked  at 
the  gentleman,  and  saw  him  glance  up  at  the  sky  above  the 
trees,  where  the  day  was  beginning  to  decline,  and  the  sunset 
to  come  on.  He  saw,  too,  that  his  hair  was  turning  gray. 
But,  they  never  could  rest  long,  for  they  had  their  journey 
to  perform,  and  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  be  always 
busy. 

At  last,  there  had  been  so  many  partings  that  there  were 
no  children  left,  and  only  the  traveller,  the  gentleman,  and 
the  lady,  went  upon  their  way  in  company.  And  now  the 
wood  was  yellow ; and  now  brown ; and  the  leaves,  even  of 
the  forest  trees,  began  to  fall. 

So,  they  came  to  an  avenue  that  was  darker  than  the  rest, 
and  were  pressing  forward  on  their  journey  without  looking 
down  it  when  the  lady  stopped. 

“ My  husband,”  said  the  lady.  “ I am  called.” 

They  listened,  and  they  heard  a voice,  a long  way  down  the 
avenue,  say,  “ Mother,  mother ! ” 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  first  child  who  had  said,  “ I am 
going  to  Heaven ! ” and  the  father  said,  “ I pray  not  yet. 
The  sunset  is  very  near.  I pray  not  yet ! ” 

But,  the  voice  cried  “ Mother,  mother  ! ” without  minding 
him,  though  his  hair  was  now  quite  white,  and  tears  were  on 
his  face. 

Then,  the  mother,  who  was  already  drawn  into  the  shade  of 
the  dark  avenue  and  moving  away  with  her  arms  still  round 
his  neck,  kissed  him,  and  said  “My  dearest,  I am  summoned, 
and  I go  ! ” And  she  was  gone.  And  the  traveller  and  he 
were  left  alone  together. 

And  they  went  on  and  on  together,  until  they  came  to  very 
near  the  end  of  the  wood  : so  near,  that  they  could  see  the 
sunset  shining  red  before  them  through  the  trees. 

Yet,  once  more,  while  he  broke  his  way  among  the  branches, 
the  traveller  lost  his  friend.  He  called  and  called,  but  there 
was  no  reply,  and  when  he  passed  out  of  the  wood,  and  saw 
the  peaceful  sun  going  down  upon  a wide  purple  prospect,  he 
came  to  an  old  man  sitting  on  a fallen  tree.  So,  he  said  to 


THE  CHILD'S  STOBY. 


253 


the  old  man,  “ What  do  you  do  here  ? ” And  the  old  man 
said  with  a calm  smile,  “ I am  always  remembering.  Come 
and  remember  with  me  ! ” 

So  the  traveller  sat  down  by  the  side  of  that  old  man,  face 
to  face  with  the  serene  sunset ; and  all  his  friends  came  softly 
back  and  stood  around  him.  The  beautiful  child,  the  hand- 
some boy,  the  young  man  in  love,  the  father,  mother,  and 
children,  every  one  of  them  was  there,  and  he  had  lost 
nothing.  So,  he  loved  them  all,  and  was  kind  and  forbearing 
with  them  all,  and  was  always  pleased  to  watch  them  all,  and 
they  all  honored  and  loved  him.  And  I think  the  traveller 
must  be  yourself,  dear  Grandfather,  because  this  is  what  you 
do  to  us,  and  what  we  do  to  you. 


THE  SCHOOLBOY’S  STORY. 


Being  rather  young  at  present  — I am  getting  on  in  years, 
but  still  I am  rather  young  — I have  no  particular  adventures 
of  my  own  to  fall  back  upon.  It  wouldn’t  much  interest  any- 
body here,  I suppose,  to  know  what  a screw  the  Reverend  is, 
or  what  a griffin  she  is,  or  how  they  do  stick  it  into  parents  — 
particularly  hair-cutting,  and  medical  attendance.  One  of  our 
fellows  was  charged  in  his  half’s  account  twelve  and  sixpence 
for  two  pills  — tolerably  profitable  at  six  and  threepence 
apiece,  I should  think  — and  he  never  took  them  either,  but 
put  them  up  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket. 

As  to  the  beef,  it’s  shameful.  It’s  not  beef.  Regular  beef 
isn’t  veins.  You  can  chew  regular  beef.  Besides  which, 
there’s  gravy  to  regular  beef,  and  you  never  see  a drop  to 
ours.  Another  of  our  fellows  went  home  ill,  and  heard  the 
family  doctor  tell  his  father  that  he  couldn’t  account  for  his 
complaint  unless  it  was  the  beer.  Of  course  it  was  the  beer, 
and  well  it  might  be ! 

However,  beef  and  Old  Cheeseman  are  two  different  things. 
So  is  beer.  It  was  Old  Cheeseman  I meant  to  tell  about ; not 
the  manner  in  which  our  fellows  get  their  constitutions  de- 
stroyed for  the  sake  of  profit. 

Why,  look  at  the  pie-crust  alone.  There’s  no  flakiness  in 
it.  It’s  solid  — like  damp  lead.  Then  our  fellows  get  night- 
mares, and  are  bolstered  for  calling  out  and  waking  other 
fellows.  Who  can  wonder  ! 

Old  Cheeseman  one  night  walked  in  his  sleep,  put  his  hat 
on  over  his  night-cap,  got  hold  of  a fishing-rod  and  a cricket 
bat,  and  went  down  into  the  parlor,  where  they  naturally 
thought  from  his  appearance  he  was  a Ghost.  Why,  he  never 
would  have  done  that,  if  his  meals  had  been  wholesome. 

254 


THE  SCHOOLBOY’S  STORY. 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STORY. 


255 


When  we  all  begin  to  walk  in  our  sleeps,  I suppose  they’ll  be 
sorry  for  it. 

Old  Cheeseman  wasn’t  second  Latin  Master  then ; he  was  a 
fellow  himself.  He  was  first  brought  there,  very  small,  in  a 
post-chaise,  by  a woman  who  was  always  taking  snuff  and 
shaking  him  — and  that  was  the  most  he  remembered  about 
it.  He  never  went  home  for  the  holidays.  His  accounts  (he 
never  learnt  any  extras)  were  sent  to  a Bank,  and  the  Bank 
paid  them ; and  he  had  a brown  suit  twice  a year,  and  went 
into  boots  at  twelve.  They  were  always  too  big  for  him,  too. 

In  the  Midsummer  holidays,  some  of  our  fellows  who  lived 
within  walking  distance,  used  to  come  back  and  climb  the 
trees  outside  the  playground  wall,  on  purpose  to  look  at  Old 
Cheeseman  reading  there  by  himself.  He  was  always  as  mild 
as  the  tea  — and  tliat’s  pretty  mild,  I should  hope  ! — so  when 
they  whistled  to  him,  he  looked  up  and  nodded;  and  when 
they  said  “ Halloa  Old  Cheeseman,  what  have  you  had  for 
dinner  ? ” he  said  “ Boiled  mutton ; ” and  when  they  said 
“ An’t  it  solitary,  Old  Cheeseman  ? ” he  said  “ It  is  a little 
dull,  sometimes;”  and  then  they  said  “Well,  good  by,  Old 
Cheeseman ! ” and  climbed  down  again.  Of  course  it  was 
imposing  on  Old  Cheeseman  to  give  him  nothing  but  boiled 
mutton  through  a whole  Vacation,  but  that  was  just  like  the 
system.  When  they  didn’t  give  him  boiled  mutton  they  gave  him 
rice  pudding,  pretending  it  was  a treat.  And  saved  the  butcher. 

So  Old  Cheeseman  went  on.  The  holidays  brought  him  into 
other  trouble  besides  the  loneliness ; because  when  the  fellows 
began  to  come  back,  not  wanting  to,  he  was  always  glad  to  see 
them : which  was  aggravating  when  they  were  not  at  all  glad 
to  see  him,  and  so  he  got  his  head  knocked  against  walls,  and 
that  was  the  way  his  nose  bled.  But  he  was  a favorite  in 
general.  Once,  a subscription  was  raised  for  him;  and,  to 
keep  up  his  spirits,  he  was  presented  before  the  holidays  with 
two  white  mice,  a rabbit,  a pigeon,  and  a beautiful  puppy. 
Old  Cheeseman  cried  about  it — especially  soon  afterwards, 
when  they  all  ate  one  another. 

Of  course  Old  Cheeseman  used  to  be  called  by  the  names  of 
all  sorts  of  cheeses  — Double  Glo’sterman,  Family  Cheshire- 
man,  Dutchman,  North  Wiltshireman,  and  all  that.  But  he 


256 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STORY. 


never  minded  it.  And  I don't  mean  to  say  he  was  old  in  point 
of  years  — because  he  wasn’t  — only  he  was  called,  from  the 
first,  Old  Cheeseman. 

At  last,  Old  Cheeseman  was  made  second  Latin  Master. 
He  was  brought  in  one  morning  at  the  beginning  of  a new 
half,  and  presented  to  the  school  in  that  capacity  as  u Mr. 
Cheeseman.”  Then  our  fellows  all  agreed  that  Old  Cheese- 
man was  a spy,  and  a deserter,  who  had  gone  over  to  the 
enemy’s  camp,  and  sold  himself  for  gold.  It  was  no  excuse 
for  him  that  he  had  sold  himself  for  very  little  gold — two 
pound  ten  a quarter  and  his  washing,  as  was  reported.  It 
was  decided  by  a Parliament  which  sat  about  it,  that  Old 
Cheeseman’s  mercenary  motives  could  alone  be  taken  into 
account,  and  that  he  had  “ coined  our  blood  for  drachmas.” 
The  Parliament  took  the  expression  out  of  the  quarrel  scene 
between  Brutus  and  Cassius. 

When  it  was  settled  in  this  strong  way  that  Old  Cheeseman 
was  a tremendous  traitor,  who  had  wormed  himself  into  our 
fellows’  secrets  on  purpose  to  get  himself  into  favor  by  giving 
up  everything  he  knew,  all  courageous  fellows  were  invited  to 
come  forward  and  enroll  themselves  in  a Society  for  making  a 
set  against  him.  The  President  of  the  Society  was  First  boy, 
named  Bob  Tarter.  His  father  was  in  the  West  Indies,  and 
he  owned,  himself,  that  his  father  was  worth  Millions.  He 
had  great  power  among  our  fellows,  and  he  wrote  a parody, 
beginning, 

“ Who  made  believe  to  be  so  meek 
That  we  could  hardly  hear  him  speak, 

Y et  turned  out  an  Informing  Sneak  ? 

Old  Cheeseman 

— and  on  in  that  way  through  more  than  a dozen  verses, 
which  he  used  to  go  and  sing,  every  morning,  close  by  the 
new  master’s  desk.  He  trained  one  of  the  low  boys  too,  a 
rosy-cheeked  little  Brass  who  didn’t  care  what  he  did,  to  go 
up  to  him  with  his  Latin  Grammar  one  morning,  and  say  it 
so  : — Nominativus  pronominum  — Old  Cheeseman,  raro  ex- 
primitur — was  never  suspected,  nisi  distinction is — of  being 
an  informer,  aut  emphasis  gratid  — until  he  proved  one.  Ut 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STORY. 


257 


— for  instance,  Vos  damnastis  — when  he  sold  the  boys.  Quasi 

— as  though,  dicat  — he  should  say,  Pretcerea  nemo  — I’m  a 
Judas  ! All  this  produced  a great  effect  on  Old  Cheeseman. 
He  had  never  had  much  hair ; but  what  he  had,  began  to  get 
thinner  and  thinner  every  day.  He  grew  paler  and  more 
worn ; and  sometimes  of  an  evening  he  was  seen  sitting  at  his 
desk  with  a precious  long  snuff  to  his  candle,  and  his  hands 
before  his  face,  crying.  But  no  member  of  the  Society  could 
pity  him,  even  if  he  felt  inclined,  because  the  President  said 
it  was  Old  Cheeseman’s  conscience. 

So  Old  Cheeseman  went  on,  and  didn’t  he  lead  a miserable 
life  ! Of  course  the  Beverend  turned  up  his  nose  at  him,  and 
of  course  she  did  — because  both  of  them  always  do  that,  at 
all  the  masters  — but  he  suffered  from  the  fellows  most,  and 
he  suffered  from  them  constantly.  He  never  told  about  it, 
that  the  Society  could  find  out ; but  he  got  no  credit  for  that, 
because  the  President  said  it  was  Old  Cheeseman’s  cowardice. 

He  had  only  one  friend  in  the  world,  and  that  one  was 
almost  as  powerless  as  he  was,  for  it  was  only  Jane.  Jane 
was  a sort  of  wardrobe-woman  to  our  fellows,  and  took  care  of 
the  boxes.  She  had  come  at  first,  I believe,  as  a kind  of 
apprentice  — some  of  our  fellows  say  from  a Charity,  but  I 
don’t  know  — and  after  her  time  was  out,  had  stopped  at  so 
much  a year.  So  little  a year,  perhaps  I ought  to  say,  for  it 
is  far  more  likely.  However,  she  had  put  some  pounds  in  the 
Savings’  Bank,  and  she  was  a very  nice  young  woman.  She 
was  not  quite  pretty ; but  she  had  a very  frank,  honest,  bright 
face,  and  all  our  fellows  were  fond  of  her.  She  was  uncom- 
monly neat  and  cheerful,  and  uncommonly  comfortable  and 
kind.  And  if  anything  was  the  matter  with  a fellow’s 
mother,  he  always  went  and  showed  the  letter  to  Jane. 

Jane  was  Old  Cheeseman’s  friend.  The  more  the  Society 
went  against  him,  the  more  Jane  stood  by  him.  She  used  to 
give  him  a good-humored  look  out  of  her  still-room  window, 
sometimes,  that  seemed  to  set  him  up  for  the  day.  She  used 
to  pass  out  of  the  orchard  and  the  kitchen-garden  (always 
kept  locked,  I believe  you!)  through  the  playground,  when 
she  might  have  gone  the  other  way,  only  to  give  a turn  of  her 
head,  as  much  as  to  say  “ Keep  up  your  spirits ! ” to  Old 

VOL.  II — 17 


258 


THE  SCHOOLBOY1  S STORY. 


Cheeseman.  His  slip  of  a room  was  so  fresh  and  orderly, 
that  it  was  well  known  who  looked  after  it  while  he  was  at 
his  desk;  and  when  onr  fellows  saw  a smoking  hot  dumpling 
on  his  plate  at  dinner,  they  knew  with  indignation  who  had 
sent  it  up. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  Society  resolved,  after  a 
quantity  of  meeting  and  debating,  that  Jane  should  be 
requested  to  cut  Old  Cheeseman  dead ; and  that  if  she  refused, 
she  must  be  sent  to  Coventry  herself.  So  a deputation,  headed 
by  the  President,  was  appointed  to  wait  on  Jane,  and  inform 
her  of  the  vote  the  Society  had  been  under  the  painful  neces- 
sity of  passing.  She  was  very  much  respected  for  all  her 
good  qualities,  and  there  was  a story  about  her  having  once 
waylaid  the  Reverend  in  his  own  study  and  got  a fellow  off 
from  severe  punishment,  of  her  own  kind  comfortable  heart. 
So  the  deputation  didn’t  much  like  the  job.  However,  they 
went  up,  and  the  President  told  Jane  all  about  it.  Upon 
which  Jane  turned  very  red,  burst  into  tears,  informed  the 
President  and  the  deputation,  in  a way  not  at  all  like  her 
usual  way,  that  they  were  a parcel  of  malicious  young  savages, 
and  turned  the  whole  respected  body  out  of  the  room.  Con- 
sequently it  was  entered  in  the  Society’s  book  (kept  in  astro- 
nomical cipher  for  fear  of  detection),  that  all  communication 
with  Jane  was  interdicted;  and  the  President  addressed  the 
members  on  this  convincing  instance  of  Old  Cheeseman’s 
undermining. 

But  Jane  was  as  true  to  Old  Cheeseman  as  Old  Cheeseman 
was  false  to  our  fellows  — in  their  opinion  at  all  events  — and 
steadily  continued  to  be  his  only  friend.  It  was  a great 
exasperation  to  the  Society,  because  Jane  was  as  much  a loss 
to  them  as  she  was  a gain  to  him ; and  being  more  inveterate 
against  him  than  ever,  they  treated  him  worse  than  ever.  At 
last,  one  morning,  his  desk  stood  empty,  his  room  was  peeped 
into  and  found  to  be  vacant,  and  a whisper  went  about  among 
the  pale  faces  of  our  fellows  that  Old  Cheeseman,  unable  to 
bear  it  any  longer,  had  got  up  early  and  drowned  himself. 

The  mysterious  looks  of  the  other  masters  after  breakfast, 
and  the  evident  fact  that  Old  Cheeseman  was  not  expected, 
confirmed  the  Society  in  this  opinion.  Some  began  to  discuss 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STOBY. 


259 


whether  the  President  was  liable  to  hanging  or  only  trans- 
portation for  life,  and  the  President’s  face  showed  a great 
anxiety  to  know  which.  However,  he  said  that  a jury  of  his 
country  should  find  him  game;  and  that  in  his  address  he 
should  put  it  to  them  to  lay  their  hands  upon  their  hearts, 
and  say  whether  they  as  Britons  approved  of  informers,  and 
how  they  thought  they  would  like  it  themselves.  Some  of 
the  Society  considered  that  he  had  better  run  away  until  he 
found  a forest,  where  he  might  change  clothes  with  a wood- 
cutter and  stain  his  face  with  blackberries ; but  the  majority 
believed  that  if  he  stood  his  ground,  his  father  — belonging  as 
he  did  to  the  West  Indies,  and  being  worth  Millions  — could 
buy  him  off. 

All  our  fellows’  hearts  beat  fast  when  the  Reverend  came 
in,  and  made  a sort  of  a Roman,  or  a Field  Marshal,  of  himself 
with  the  ruler ; as  he  always  did  before  delivering  an  address. 
But  their  fears  were  nothing  to  their  astonishment  when  he 
came  out  with  the  story  that  Old  Cheeseman,  so  long  our 
respected  friend  and  fellow-pilgrim  in  the  pleasant  plains  of 
knowledge,”  he  called  him  — 0 yes!  I dare  say  ! Much  of 
that ! — was  the  orphan  child  of  a disinherited  young  lady 
who  had  married  against  her  father’s  wish,  and  whose  young 
husband  had  died,  and  who  had  died  of  sorrow  herself,  and 
whose  unfortunate  baby  (Old  Cheeseman)  had  been  brought 
up  at  the  cost  of  a grandfather  who  would  never  consent  to 
see  it,  baby,  boy,  or  man : which  grandfather  was  now  dead, 
and  serve  him  right  — that’s  my  putting  in — and  which  grand- 
father’s large  property,  there  being  no  will,  was  now,  and  all 
of  a sudden  and  for  ever,  Old  Cheeseman’s ! Our  so  long 
respected  friend  and  fellow-pilgrim  in  the  pleasant  plains  of 
knowledge,  the  Reverend  wound  up  a lot  of  bothering  quota- 
tions by  saying,  would  “ come  among  us  once  more  ” that  day 
fortnight,  when  he  desired  to  take  leave  of  us  himself  in  a 
more  particular  manner.  With  these  words,  he  stared  severely 
round  at  our  fellows,  and  went  solemnly  out. 

There  was  precious  consternation  among  the  members  of 
the  Society,  now.  Lots  of  them  wanted  to  resign,  and  lots 
more  began  to  try  to  make  out  that  they  had  never  belonged 
to  it.  However,  the  President  stuck  up,  and  said  that  they 


260 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STOBY. 


must  stand  or  fall  together,  and  that  if  a breach  was  made  it 
should  be  over  his  body  — which  was  meant  to  encourage  the 
Society:  but  it  didn’t.  The  President  further  said,  he  would 
consider  the  position  in  which  they  stood,  and  would  give 
them  his  best  opinion  and  advice  in  a few  days.  This  was 
eagerly  looked  for,  as  he  knew  a good  deal  of  the  world  on 
account  of  his  father’s  being  in  the  West  Indies. 

After  days  and  days  of  hard  thinking,  and  drawing  armies 
all  over  his  slate,  the  President  called  our  fellows  together, 
and  made  the  matter  clear.  He  said  it  was  plain  that  when 
Old  Cheeseman  came  on  the  appointed  day,  his  first  revenge 
would  be  to  impeach  the  Society,  and  have  it  flogged  all 
round.  After  witnessing  with  joy  the  torture  of  his  enemies, 
and  gloating  over  the  cries  which  agony  would  extort  from 
them,  the  probability  was  that  he  would  invite  the  Reverend, 
on  pretence  of  conversation,  into  a private  room  — say  the 
parlor  into  which  Parents  were  shown,  where  the  two  great 
globes  were  which  were  never  used  — and  would  there  re- 
proach him  with  the  various  frauds  and  oppressions  he  had 
endured  at  his  hands.  At  the  close  of  his  observations  he 
would  make  a signal  to  a Prizefighter  concealed  in  the  passage, 
who  would  then  appear  and  pitch  into  the  Reverend  till  he 
was  left  insensible.  Old  Cheeseman  would  then  make  Jane  a 
present  of  from  five  to  ten  pounds,  and  would  leave  the  estab- 
lishment in  fiendish  triumph. 

The  President  explained  that  against  the  parlor  part,  or  the 
Jane  part,  of  these  arrangements  he  had  nothing  to  say,  but, 
on  the  part  of  the  Society,  he  counselled  deadly  resistance. 
With  this  view  he  recommended  that  all  available  desks  should 
be  filled  with  stones,  and  that  the  first  word  of  the  complaint 
should  be  the  signal  to  every  fellow  to  let  fly  at  Old  Cheese- 
man. The  bold  advice  put  the  Society  in  better  spirits,  and 
was  unanimously  taken.  A post  about  Old  Cheeseman’s  size 
wras  put  up  in  the  playground,  and  all  our  fellows  practised  at 
it  till  it  was  dinted  all  over. 

When  the  day  came,  and  Places  were  called,  every  fellow 
sat  down  in  a tremble.  There  had  been  much  discussing  and 
disputing  as  to  how  Old  Cheeseman  would  come ; but  it  was 
the  general  opinion  that  he  would  appear  in  a sort  of  triumphal 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STOBY. 


261 


car  drawn  by  four  horses,  with  two  livery  servants  in  front, 
and  the  Prizefighter  in  disguise  up  behind.  So,  all  our  fellows 
sat  listening  for  the  sound  of  wheels.  But  no  wheels  were 
heard,  for  Old  Cheeseman  walked  after  all,  and  came  into  the 
school  without  any  preparation.  Pretty  much  as  he  used  to 
be,  only  dressed  in  black. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  the  Reverend,  presenting  him,  “ our  so 
long  respected  friend  and  fellow-pilgrim  in  the  pleasant  plains 
of  knowledge,  is  desirous  to  offer  a word  or  two.  Attention, 
gentlemen,  one  and  all ! ” 

Every  fellow  stole  his  hand  into  his  desk  and  looked  at  the 
President.  The  President  was  all  ready,  and  taking  aim  at 
Old  Cheeseman  with  his  eyes. 

What  did  Old  Cheeseman  then,  but  walk  up  to  his  old  desk, 
look  round  him  with  a queer  smile  as  if  there  was  a tear  in 
his  eye,  and  begin  in  a quavering  mild  voice,  “ My  dear  com- 
panions and  old  friends  ! ” 

Every  fellow’s  hand  came  out  of  his  desk,  and  the  President 
suddenly  began  to  cry. 

“ My  dear  companions  and  old  friends,”  said  Old  Cheeseman, 
“ you  have  heard  of  my  good  fortune.  I have  passed  so  many 
years  under  this  roof  — my  entire  life  so  far,  I may  say  — 
that  I hope  you  have  been  glad  to  hear  of  it  for  my  sake.  I 
could  never  enjoy  it  without  exchanging  congratulations  with 
you.  If  we  have  ever  misunderstood  one  another  at  all,  pray 
my  dear  boys  let  us  forgive  and  forget.  I have  a great  ten- 
derness for  you,  and  I am  sure  you  return  it.  I want  in  the 
fulness  of  a grateful  heart  to  shake  hands  with  you  every  one. 
I have  come  back  to  do  it,  if  you  please,  my  dear  boys.” 

Since  the  President  had  begun  to  cry,  several  other  fellows 
had  broken  out,  here  and  there ; but  now,  when  Old  Cheese- 
man began  with  him  as  first  boy,  laid  his  left  hand  affection- 
ately on  his  shoulder  and  gave  him  his  right ; and  when  the 
President  said  “ Indeed  I don’t  deserve  it,  sir ; upon  my  honor 
I don’t ; ” there  was  sobbing  and  crying  all  over  the  school. 
Every  other  fellow  said  he  didn’t  deserve  it,  much  in  the  same 
way ; but  Old  Cheeseman,  not  minding  that  a bit,  went  cheer- 
fully round  to  every  boy,  and  wound  up  with  every  master  — 
finishing  off  the  Reverend  last. 


262 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STORY . 


Then  a snivelling  little  chap  in  a corner,  who  was  always 
under  some  punishment  or  other,  set  up  a shrill  cry  of  “ Suc- 
cess to  Old  Cheeseman  ! Hoorray ! ” The  Reverend  glared 
upon  him,  and  said,  “ Mr.  Cheeseman,  Sir.”  But,  Old  Cheese- 
man  protesting  that  he  liked  his  old  name  a great  deal  better 
than  his  new  one,  all  our  fellows  took  up  the  cry ; and,  for  I 
don’t  know  how  many  minutes,  there  was  such  a thundering 
of  feet  and  hands,  and  such  a roaring  of  Old  Cheeseman,  as 
never  was  heard. 

After  that,  there  was  a spread  in  the  dining-room  of  the 
most  magnificent  kind.  Fowls,  tongues,  preserves,  fruits, 
confectioneries,  jellies,  neguses,  barley-sugar  temples,  trifles, 
crackers  — eat  all  you  can  and  pocket  what  you  like  — all  at 
Old  Cheeseman’s  expense.  After  that,  speeches,  whole  holi- 
day, double  and  treble  sets  of  all  manners  of  things  for  all 
manners  of  games,  donkeys,  pony-chaises  and  drive  yourself, 
dinner  for  all  the  masters  at  the  Seven  Bells  (twenty  pounds 
a head  our  fellows  estimated  it  at),  an  annual  holiday  and 
feast  fixed  for  that  day  every  year,  and  another  on  Old  Cheese- 
man’s  birthday  — Reverend  bound  down  before  the  fellows  to 
allow  it,  so  that  he  could  never  back  out  — all  at  Old  Cheese- 
man’s  expense. 

And  didn’t  our  fellows  go  down  in  a body  and  cheer  outside 
the  Seven  Bells  ? 0 no  ! 

But  there’s  something  else  besides.  Don’t  look  at  the  next 
story-teller,  for  there’s  more  yet.  Next  day,  it  was  resolved 
that  the  Society  should  make  it  up  with  Jane,  and  then  be 
dissolved.  What  do  you  think  of  Jane  being  gone,  though? 
“ What  ? Gone  forever  ? ” said  our  fellows,  with  long  faces. 
“ Yes,  to  be  sure,”  was  all  the  answer  they  could  get.  None 
of  the  people  about  the  house  would  say  anything  more.  At 
length,  the  first  boy  took  upon  himself  to  ask  the  Reverend 
whether  our  old  friend  Jane  was  really  gone  ? The  Reverend 
(he  has  got  a daughter  at  home  — turn-up  nose,  and  red)  re- 
plied severely,  “Yes,  sir,  Miss  Pitt  is  gone.”  The  idea  of 
calling  Jane,  Miss  Pitt!  Some  said  she  had  been  sent  away 
in  disgrace  for  taking  money  from  Old  Cheeseman;  others 
said  she  had  gone  into  Old  Cheeseman’s  service  at  a rise  of 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STOBY . 


263 


ten  pounds  a year.  All  that  our  fellows  knew,  was,  she  was 
gone. 

It  was  two  or  three  months  afterwards,  when,  one  afternoon, 
an  open  carriage  stopped  at  the  cricket  field,  just  outside 
bounds,  with  a lady  and  gentleman  in  it,  who  looked  at  the 
game  a long  time  and  stood  up  to  see  it  played.  Nobody 
thought  much  about  them,  until  the  same  little  snivelling  chap 
came  in,  against  all  rules,  from  the  post  where  he  was  Scout, 
and  said,  “ It’s  Jane  ! ” Both  Elevens  forgot  the  game  directly, 
and  ran  crowding  round  the  carriage.  It  was  Jane  ! In  such 
a bonnet ! And  if  you’ll  believe  me,  Jane  was  married  to  Old 
Cheeseman. 

It  soon  became  quite  a regular  thing  when  our  fellows  were 
hard  at  it  in  the  playground,  to  see  a carriage  at  the  low  part 
of  the  wall  where  it  joins  the  high  part,  and  a lady  and  gen- 
tleman standing  up  in  it,  looking  over.  The  gentleman  was 
always  Old  Cheeseman,  and  the  lady  was  always  Jane. 

The  first  time  I ever  saw  them,  I saw  them  in  that  way. 
There  had  been  a good  many  changes  among  our  fellows  then, 
and  it  had  turned  out  that  Bob  Tarter’s  father  wasn’t  worth 
Millions ! He  wasn’t  worth  anything.  Bob  had  gone  for  a 
soldier,  and  Old  Cheeseman  had  purchased  his  discharge. 
But  that’s  not  the  carriage.  The  carriage  stopped,  and  all 
our  fellows  stopped  as  soon  as  it  was  seen. 

“ So  you  have  never  sent  me  to  Coventry  after  all ! ” said 
the  lady,  laughing,  as  our  fellows  swarmed  up  the  wall  to 
shake  hands  with  her.  “ Are  you  never  going  to  do  it  ? ” 

“ Never  ! never!  never!”  on  all  sides. 

I didn’t  understand  what  she  meant  then,  but  of  course  I do 
now.  I was  very  much  pleased  with  her  face  though,  and 
with  her  good  way,  and  I couldn’t  help  looking  at  her  — and 
at  him  too  — with  all  our  fellows  clustering  so  joyfully  about 
them. 

They  soon  took  notice  of  me  as  a new  boy,  so  I thought  I 
might  as  well  swarm  up  the  wall  myself,  and  shake  hands 
with  them  as  the  rest  did.  I was  quite  as  glad  to  see  them 
as  the  rest  were,  and  was  quite  as  familiar  with  them  in  a 
moment. 


264 


THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  STOBY. 


“ Only  a fortnight  now,”  said  Old  Cheeseman,  “ to  the  holi- 
days. Who  stops  ? Anybody  ? ” 

A good  many  fingers  pointed  at  me,  and  a good  many  voices 
cried,  “ He  does ! ” For  it  was  the  year  when  you  were  all 
away ; and  rather  low  I was  about  it,  I can  tell  you. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Old  Cheeseman.  “ But  it’s  solitary.here  in  the 
holiday  time.  He  had  better  come  to  us.” 

So  I went  to  their  delightful  house,  and  was  as  happy  as  I 
could  possibly  be.  They  understand  how  to  conduct  them- 
selves towards  boys,  they  do.  When  they  take  a boy  to  the 
play,  for  instance,  they  do  take  him.  They  don’t  go  in  after 
it’s  begun,  or  come  out  before  it’s  over.  They  know  how  to 
bring  a boy  up,  too.  Look  at  their  own  ! Though  he  is  very 
little  as  yet,  what  a capital  boy  he  is  ! Why,  my  next  favorite 
to  Mrs.  Cheeseman  and  Old  Cheeseman,  is  young  Cheeseman. 

So,  now  I have  told  you  all  I know  about  Old  Cheeseman. 
And  it’s  not  much  after  all,  I am  afraid.  Is  it  ? 


NOBODY’S  STORY. 


He  lived  on  the  bank  of  a mighty  river,  broad  and  deep, 
which  was  always  silently  rolling  on  to  a vast  undiscovered 
ocean.  It  had  rolled  on,  ever  since  the  world  began.  It  had 
changed  its  course  sometimes,  and  turned  into  new  channels, 
leaving  its  old  ways  dry  and  barren;  but  it  had  ever  been 
upon  the  flow,  and  ever  was  to  flow  until  time  should  be  no 
more.  Against  its  strong,  unfathomable  stream,  nothing  made 
head.  No  living  creature,  no  flower,  no  leaf,  no  particle  of 
animate  or  inanimate  existence,  ever  strayed  back  from  the 
undiscovered  ocean.  The  tide  of  the  river  set  resistlessly 
towards  it;  and  the  tide  never  stopped,  any  more  than  the 
earth  stops  in  its  circling  round  the  sun. 

He  lived  in  a busy  place,  and  he  worked  very  hard  to  live. 
He  had  no  hope  of  ever  being  rich  enough  to  live  a month 
without  hard  work,  but  he  was  quite  content,  God  knows,  to 
labor  with  a cheerful  will.  He  was  one  of  an  immense  family, 
all  of  whose  sons  and  daughters  gained  their  daily  bread  by 
daily  work,  prolonged  from  their  rising  up  betimes  until  their 
lying  down  at  night.  Beyond  this  destiny  he  had  no  prospect, 
and  he  sought  none. 

There  was  over-much  drumming,  trumpeting,  and  speech- 
making, in  the  neighborhood  where  he  dwelt ; but  he  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  that.  Such  clash  and  uproar  came  from  the 
Bigwig  family,  at  the  unaccountable  proceedings  of  which  race, 
he  marvelled  much.  They  set  up  the  strangest  statues,  in 
iron,  marble,  bronze,  and  brass,  before  his  door ; and  darkened 
his  house  with  the  legs  and  tails  of  uncouth  images  of  horses. 
He  wondered  what  it  all  meant,  smiled  in  a rough  good-hu- 
mored way  he  had,  and  kept  at  his  hard  work. 

The  Bigwig  family  (composed  of  all  the  stateliest  people 
thereabouts,  and  all  the  noisiest)  had  undertaken  to  save  him 

265 


266 


NOBODY'S  STORY. 


the  trouble  of  thinking  for  himself,  and  to  manage  him  and 
his  affairs.  “ Why  truly,”  said  he,  “ I have  little  time  upon 
my  hands ; and  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  take  care  of  me, 
in  return  for  the  money  I pay  over  ” — for  the  Bigwig  family 
were  not  above  his  money  — “I  shall  be  relieved  and  much 
obliged,  considering  that  you  know  best.”  Hence  the  drum- 
ming, trumpeting,  and  speechmaking,  and  the  ugly  images  of 
horses  which  he  was  expected  to  fall  down  and  worship. 

“ I don’t  understand  all  this,”  said  he,  rubbing  his  furrowed 
brow  confusedly.  “ But  it  has  a meaning,  maybe,  if  I could 
find  it  out.” 

“ It  means,”  returned  the  Bigwig  family,  suspecting  some- 
thing of  what  he  said,  “ honor  and  glory  in  the  highest,  to  the 
highest  merit.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  he.  And  he  was  glad  to  hear  that. 

But,  when  he  looked  among  the  images  in  iron,  marble, 
bronze,  and  brass,  he  failed  to  find  a rather  meritorious  coun- 
tryman of  his,  once  the  son  of  a Warwickshire  wool-dealer,  or 
any  single  countryman  whomsoever  of  that  kind.  He  could 
find  none  of  the  men  whose  knowledge  had  rescued  him  and 
his  children  from  terrific  and  disfiguring  disease,  whose  bold- 
ness had  raised  his  forefathers  from  the  condition  of  serfs, 
whose  wise  fancy  had  opened  a new  and  high  existence  to  the 
humblest,  whose  skill  had  filled  the  working  man’s  world 
with  accumulated  wonders.  Whereas,  he  did  find  others 
whom  he  knew  no  good  of,  and  even  others  whom  he  knew 
much  ill  of. 

“ Humph  ! ” said  he.  “ I don’t  quite  understand  it.” 

So,  he  went  home,  and  sat  down  by  his  fire-side  to  get  it 
out  of  his  mind. 

Now,  his  fire-side  was  a bare  one,  all  hemmed  in  by  black- 
ened streets ; but  it  was  a precious  place  to  him.  The  hands 
of  his  wife  were  hardened  with  toil,  and  she  was  old  before  her 
time ; but  she  was  dear  to  him.  His  children,  stunted  in  their 
growth,  bore  traces  of  unwholesome  nurture ; but  they  had 
beauty  in  his  sight.  Above  all  other  things,  it  was  an  earnest 
desire  of  this  man’s  soul  that  his  children  should  be  taught. 
“ If  I am  sometimes  misled,”  said  he,  “ for  want  of  knowledge, 
at  least  let  them  know  better,  and  avoid  my  mistakes.  If  it 


NOBODY'S  STORY. 


267 


is  hard  to  me  to  reap  the  harvest  of  pleasure  and  instruction 
that  is  stored  in  books,  let  it  be  easier  to  them.” 

But,  the  Bigwig  family  broke  out  into  violent  family  quar- 
rels concerning  what  it  was  lawful  to  teach  to  this  man’s 
children.  Some  of  the  family  insisted  on  such  a thing  being 
primary  and  indispensable  above  all  other  things ; and  others 
of  the  family  insisted  on  such  another  thing  being  primary 
and  indispensable  above  all  other  things;  and  the  Bigwig 
family,  rent  into  factions,  wrote  pamphlets,  held  convocations, 
delivered  charges,  orations,  and  all  varieties  of  discourses ; im- 
pounded one  another  in  courts  Lay  and  courts  Ecclesiastical; 
threw  dirt,  exchanged  pummelings,  and  fell  together  by  the 
ears  in  unintelligible  animosity.  Meanwhile,  this  man,  in  his 
short  evening  snatches  at  his  fire-side,  saw  the  demon  Igno- 
rance arise  there,  and  take  his  children  to  itself.  He  saw  his 
daughter  perverted  into  a heavy  slatternly  drudge ; he  saw  his 
son  go  moping  down  the  ways  of  low  sensuality,  to  brutality 
and  crime ; he  saw  the  dawning  light  of  intelligence  in  the 
eyes  of  his  babies  so  changing  into  cunning  and  suspicion, 
that  he  could  have  rather  wished  them  idiots. 

“ I don’t  understand  this  any  the  better,”  said  he ; “ but  I 
think  it  cannot  be  right.  Hay,  by  the  clouded  Heaven  above 
me,  I protest  against  this  as  my  wrong  ! ” 

Becoming  peaceable  again  (for  his  passion  was  usually 
short-lived,  and  his  nature  kind),  he  looked  about  him  on  his 
Sundays  and  holidays,  and  he  saw  how  much  monotony  and 
weariness  there  was,  and  thence  how  drunkenness  arose  with 
all  its  train  of  ruin.  Then  he  appealed  to  the  Bigwig  family, 
and  said,  “ We  are  a laboring  people,  and  I have  a glimmer- 
ing suspicion  in  me  that  laboring  people  of  whatever  condi- 
tion were  made  — by  a higher  intelligence  than  yours,  as  I 
poorly  understand  it  — to  be  in  need  of  mental  refreshment 
and  recreation.  See  what  we  fall  into,  when  we  rest  without 
it.  Come  ! Amuse  me  harmlessly,  show  me  something,  give 
me  an  escape  ! ” 

But,  here  the  Bigwig  family  fell  into  a state  of  uproar  abso- 
lutely deafening.  When  some  few  voices  were  faintly  heard, 
proposing  to  show  him  the  wonders  of  the  world,  the  greatness 
of  creation,  the  mighty  changes  of  time,  the  workings  of  nature 


268 


NOBODY'S  STORY . 


and  the  beauties  of  art  — to  show  him  these  things,  that  is  to 
say,  at  any  period  of  his  life  when  he  could  look  upon  them  — 
there  arose  among  the  Bigwigs  such  roaring  and  raving,  such 
pulpiting  and  petitioning,  such  maundering  and  memorial- 
izing, such  name-calling  and  dirt-throwing,  such  a shrill  wind 
of  parliamentary  questioning  and  feeble  replying — -where  “I 
dare  not”  waited  on  “I  would” — that  the  poor  fellow  stood 
aghast,  staring  wildly  around. 

“Have  I provoked  all  this,”  said  he,  with  his  hands  to  his 
affrighted  ears,  “by  what  was  meant  to  be  an  innocent  request, 
plainly  arising  out  of  my  familiar  experience,  and  the  common 
knowledge  of  all  men  who  choose  to  open  their  eyes  ? I don’t 
understand,  and  I am  not  understood.  What  is  to  come  of 
such  a state  of  things  ! ” 

He  was  bending  over  his  work,  often  asking  himself  the 
question,  when  the  news  began  to  spread  that  a pestilence  had 
appeared  among  the  laborers,  and  was  slaying  them  by  thou- 
sands. Going  forth  to  look  about  him,  he  soon  found  this  to 
be  true.  The  dying  and  the  dead  were  mingled  in  the  close 
and  tainted  houses  among  which  his  life  was  passed.  Hew 
poison  was  distilled  into  the  always  murky,  always  sickening 
air.  The  robust  and  the  weak,  old  age  and  infancy,  the  father 
and  the  mother,  all  were  stricken  down  alike. 

What  means  of  flight  had  he  ? He  remained  there,  where 
he  was,  and  saw  those  who  were  dearest  to  him  die.  A kind 
preacher  came  to  him,  and  would  have  said  some  prayers  to 
soften  his  heart  in  his  gloom,  but  he  replied : 

“0  what  avails  it,  missionary,  to  come  to  me,  a man  con- 
demned to  residence  in  this  foetid  place,  where  every  sense 
bestowed  upon  me  for  my  delight  becomes  a torment,  and 
where  every  minute  of  my  numbered  days  is  new  mire  added 
to  the  heap  under  which  I lie  oppressed ! But,  give  me  my 
first  glimpse  of  Heaven,  through  a little  of  its  light  and  air ; 
give  me  pure  water ; help  me  to  be  clean ; lighten  this  heavy 
atmosphere  and  heavy  life,  in  which  our  spirits  sink,  and  we 
become  the  indifferent  and  callous  creatures  you  too  often  see 
us ; gently  and  kindly  take  the  bodies  of  those  who  die  among 
us,  out  of  the  small  room  where  we  grow  to  be  so  familiar  with 
the  awful  change  that  even  its  sanctity  is  lost  to  us ; and, 


NOBODY'S  STORY . 


269 


Teacher,  then  I will  hear  — none  know  better  than  you,  how 
willingly  — of  Him  whose  thoughts  were  so  much  with  the 
poor,  and  who  had  compassion  for  all  human  sorrow ! ” 

He  was  at  his  work  again,  solitary  and  sad,  when  his  Master 
came  and  stood  near  to  him  dressed  in  black.  He,  also,  had 
suffered  heavily.  His  young  wife,  his  beautiful  and  good 
young  wife,  was  dead ; so,  too,  his  only  child. 

“ Master,  ?tis  hard  to  bear  — I know  it  — but  be  comforted. 
I would  give  you  comfort,  if  I could.” 

The  Master  thanked  him  from  his  heart,  but,  said  he,  “ 0 
you  laboring  men  ! The  calamity  began  among  you.  If  you 
had  but  lived  more  healthily  and  decently,  I should  not  be  the 
widowed  and  bereft  mourner  that  I am  this  day.” 

66  Master,”  returned  the  other,  shaking  his  head,  66 1 have 
begun  to  understand  a little  that  most  calamities  will  come 
from  us,  as  this  one  did,  and  that  none  will  stop  at  our  poor 
doors,  until  we  are  united  with  that  great  squabbling  family 
yonder,  to  do  the  things  that  are  right.  We  cannot  live 
healthily  and  decently,  unless  they  who  undertook  to  manage 
us  provide  the  means.  We  cannot  be  instructed,  unless  they 
will  teach  us ; we  cannot  be  rationally  amused,  unless  they 
will  amuse  us ; we  cannot  but  have  some  false  gods  of  our 
own,  while  they  set  up  so  many  of  theirs  in  all  the  public 
places.  The  evil  consequences  of  imperfect  instruction,  the 
evil  consequences  of  pernicious  neglect,  the  evil  consequences 
of  unnatural  restraint  and  the  denial  of  humanizing  enjoy- 
ments, will  all  come  from  us,  and  none  of  them  will  stop  with 
us.  They  will  spread  far  and  wide.  They  always  do ; they 
always  have  done  — just  like  the  pestilence.  I understand  so 
much,  I think,  at  last.” 

But  the  Master  said  again,  “0  you  laboring  men!  How 
seldom  do  we  ever  hear  of  you,  except  in  connection  with 
some  trouble ! ” 

“ Master,”  he  replied,  “I  am  Nobody,  and  little  likely  to 
be  heard  of  (nor  yet  much  wanted  to  be  heard  of,  perhaps), 
except  when  there  is  some  trouble.  But  it  never  begins  with 
me,  and  it  never  can  end  with  me.  As  sure  as  Death,  it  comes 
down  to  me,  and  it  goes  up  from  me.” 

There  was  so  much  reason  in  what  he  said,  that  the  Bigwig 


270 


NOBODY'S  STOIiY. 


family,  getting  wind  of  it,  and  being  horribly  frightened  by 
the  late  desolation,  resolved  to  unite  with  him  to  do  the 
things  that  were  right  — at  all  events,  so  far  as  the  said  things 
were  associated  with  the  direct  prevention,  humanly  speaking, 
of  another  pestilence.  But,  as  their  fear  wore  off,  which  it 
soon  began  to  do,  they  resumed  their  falling  out  among  them- 
selves, and  did  nothing.  Consequently  the  scourge  appeared 
again  — low  down  as  before  — and  spread  avengingly  upward 
as  before,  and  carried  off  vast  numbers  of  the  brawlers.  But 
not  a man  among  them  ever  admitted,  if  in  the  least  degree  he 
ever  perceived,  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with  it. 

So  Nobody  lived  and  died  in  the  old,  old,  old  way;  and  this, 
in  the  main,  is  the  whole  of  Nobody’s  story. 

Had  he  no  name,  you  ask?  Perhaps  it  was  Legion.  It 
matters  little  what  his  name  was.  Let  us  call  him  Legion. 

If  you  were  ever  in  the  Belgian  villages,  near  the  field  of 
Waterloo,  you  will  have  seen,  in  some  quiet  little  church,  a 
monument  erected  by  faithful  companions  in  arms  to  the 
memory  of  Colonel  A,  Major  B,  Captains  C,  D,  and  E,  Lieu- 
tenants E and  Gr,  Ensigns  H,  I,  and  J,  seven  non-commissioned 
officers,  and  one  hundred  and  thirty  rank  and  file,  who  fell  in 
the  discharge  of  their  duty  on  the  memorable  day.  The- 
story  of  Nobody  is  the  story  of  the  rank  and  file  of  the  earth. 
They  bear  their  share  of  the  battle ; they  have  their  part  in 
the  victory ; they  fall ; they  leave  no  name  but  in  the  mass. 
The  march  of  the  proudest  of  us  leads  to  the  dusty  way  by 
which  they  go.  0 ! Let  us  think  of  them  this  year  at  the 
Christmas  fire,  and  not  forget  them  when  it  is  burnt  out. 


the  marchioness  in  the  sick  room. 


THE  GHOST  OF  ART. 


I am  a bachelor,  residing  in  rather  a dreary  set  of  chambers 
in  the  Temple.  They  are  situated  in  a square  court  of  high 
houses,  which  would  be  a complete  well,  but  for  the  want  of 
water  and  the  absence  of  a bucket.  I live  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  among  the  tiles  and  sparrows.  Like  the  little  man  in 
the  nursery-story,  I live  by  myself,  and  all  the  bread  and 
cheese  I get  — which  is  not  much  — I put  upon  a shelf.  I 
need  scarcely  add,  perhaps,  that  I am  in  love,  and  that  the 
father  of  my  charming  Julia  objects  to  our  union. 

I mention  these  little  particulars  as  I might  deliver  a letter 
of  introduction.  The  reader  is  now  acquainted  with  me,  and 
perhaps  will  condescend  to  listen  to  my  narrative. 

I am  naturally  of  a dreamy  turn  of  mind  ; and  my  abundant 
leisure  — for  I am  called  to  the  bar  — coupled  with  much 
lonely  listening  to  the  twittering  of  sparrows,  and  the  patter- 
ing of  rain,  has  encouraged  that  disposition.  In  my  “ top  set,” 
I hear-  the  wind  howl,  on  a winter  night,  when  the  man 
on  the  ground  floor  believes  it  is  perfectly  still  weather. 
The  dim  lamps  with  which  our  Honorable  Society  (sup- 
posed to  be  as  yet  unconscious  of  the  new  discovery  called 
Gas)  make  the  horrors  of  the  staircase  visible,  deepen  the 
gloom  which  generally  settles  on  my  soul  when  I go  home 
at  night. 

I am  in  the  Law,  but  not  of  it.  I can’t  exactly  make 
out  what  it  means.  I sit  in  Westminster  Hall  some- 
times (in  character)  from  ten  to  four ; and  then  I go  out  of 
Court,  I don’t  know  whether  I am  standing  on  my  wig  or  my 
boots. 

It  appears  to  me  (I  mention  this  in  confidence)  as  if  there 
were  too  much  talk  and  too  much  law  — as  if  some  grains  of 
truth  were  started  overboard  into  a tempestuous  sea  of  chaff. 

271 


272 


THE  GHOST  OF  ABT. 


All  this  may  make  me  mystical.  Still,  I am  confident  that 
what  I am  going  to  describe  myself  as  having  seen  and  heard, 
I actually  did  see  and  hear. 

It  is  necessary  that  I should  observe  that  I have  a great 
delight  in  pictures.  I am  no  painter  myself,  but  I have 
studied  pictures  and  written  about  them.  I have  seen  all  the 
most  famous  pictures  in  the  world  ; my  education  and  reading 
have  been  sufficiently  general  to  possess  me  beforehand  with 
a knowledge  of  most  of  the  subjects  to  which  a Painter  is 
likely  to  have  recourse  ; and,  although  I might  be  in  some 
doubt  as  to  the  rightful  fashion  of  the  scabbard  of  King 
Lear’s  sword,  for  instance,  I think  I should  know  King  Lear 
tolerably  well,  if  I happened  to  meet  with  him. 

I go  to  all  the  Modern  Exhibitions  every  season,  and  of 
course  I revere  the  Royal  Academy.  I stand  by  . its  forty 
Academical  articles  almost  as  firmly  as  I stand  by  the  thirty- 
nine  Articles  of  the  Church  of  England.  I am  convinced 
that  in  neither  case  could  there  be,  by  any  rightful  possibil- 
ity, one  article  more  or  less. 

It  is  now  exactly  three  years  — three  years  ago,  this  very 
month  — since  I went  from  Westminster  to  the  Temple,  one 
Thursday  afternoon,  in  a cheap  steamboat.  The  sky  was 
black,  when  I imprudently  walked  on  board.  It  began  to 
thunder  and  lighten  immediately  afterwards,  and  the  rain 
poured  down  in  torrents.  The  deck  seeeming  to  smoke  with 
the  wet,  I went  below ; but  so  many  passengers  were  there, 
smoking  too,  that  I came  up  again,  and  buttoning  my  peacoat, 
and  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  paddle-box,  stood  as  upright 
as  I could,  and  made  the  best  of  it. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  I first  beheld  the  terrible  Being, 
who  is  the  subject  of  my  present  recollections. 

Standing  against  the  funnel,  apparently  with  the  intention 
of  drying  himself  by  the  heat  as  fast  as  he  got  wet,  was  a 
shabby  man  in  threadbare  black,  and  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  who  fascinated  me  from  the  memorable  instant  when 
I caught  his  eye. 

Where  had  I caught  that  eye  before  ? Who  was  he  ? 
Why  did  I connect  him,  all  at  once,  with  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field, Alfred  the  Great,  Gil  Bias,  Charles  the  Second,  Joseph 


THE  GHOST  OF  ART. 


273 


and  his  Brethren,  the  Fairy  Queen,  Tom  Jones,  the  Decame- 
ron of  Boccaccio,  Tam  O’Shanter,  the  Marriage  of  the  Doge 
of  Venice  with  the  Adriatic,  and  the  Great  Plague  of  Lon- 
don ? Why,  when  he  bent  one  leg,  and  placed  one  hand 
upon  the  back  of  the  seat  near  him,  did  my  mind  associate 
him  wildly  with  the  words,  “ Number  one  hundred  and  forty- 
two,  Portrait  of  a gentleman  ? ” Could  it  be  that  I was  going 
mad  ? 

I looked  at  him  again,  and  now  I could  have  taken  my  affi- 
davit that  he  belonged  to  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield’s  family. 
Whether  he  was  the  Vicar,  or  Moses,  or  Mr.  Burchill,  or  the 
Squire,  or  a conglomeration  of  all  four,  I knew  not ; but  I was 
impelled  to  seize  him  by  the  throat,  and  charge  him  with 
being,  in  some  fell  way,  connected  with  the  Primrose  blood. 
He  looked  up  at  the  rain,  and  then  — oh  Heaven  ! — he  became 
Saint  John.  He  folded  his  arms,  resigning  himself  to  the 
weather,  and  I was  frantically  inclined  to  address  him  as  the 
Spectator,  and  firmly  demand  to  know  what  he  had  done  with 
Sir  Koger  de  Coverley. 

The  frightful  suspicion  that  I was  becoming  deranged, 
returned  upon  me  with  redoubled  force.  Meantime,  this 
awful  stranger,  inexplicably  linked  to  my  distress,  stood  dry- 
ing himself  at  the  funnel ; and  ever,  as  the  steam  rose  from 
his  clothes,  diffusing  a mist  around  him,  I saw  through  the 
ghostly  medium  all  the  people  I have  mentioned,  and  a score 
more,  sacred  and  profane. 

I am  conscious  of  a dreadful  inclination  that  stole  upon 
me,  as  it  thundered  and  lightened,  to  grapple  with  this  man, 
or  demon,  and  plunge  him  over  the  side.  But,  I constrained 
myself  — I know  not  how  — to  speak  to  him,  and  in  a pause 
of  the  storm,  I crossed  the  deck,  and  said : 

“ What  are  you  ? ” 

He  replied,  hoarsely,  “ A Model.” 

“ A what  ? ” said  I. 

“ A Model,”  he  replied.  “ I sets  to  the  profession  for  a bob 
a-hour.”  (All  through  this  narrative  I give  his  own  words, 
which  are  indelibly  imprinted  on  my  memory.) 

The  relief  which  this  disclosure  gave  me,  the  exquisite 
delight  of  the  restoration  of  my  confidence  in  my  own  sanity, 

VOL.  II — 18 


274 


THE  GHOST  OF  ABT. 


I cannot  describe.  I should  have  fallen  on  his  neck,  but  for 
the  consciousness  of  being  observed  by  the  man  at  the  wheel. 

“ You  then,”  said  I,  shaking  him  so  warmly  by  the  hand, 
that  I wrung  the  rain  out  of  his  coat-cuff,  “ are  the  gentleman 
whom  I have  so  frequently  contemplated,  in  connection  with 
a high-backed  chair  with  a red  cushion,  and  a table  with 
twisted  legs.” 

“I  am  that  Model,”  he  rejoined  moodily,  “and  I wish  I was 
anything  else.” 

“ Say  not  so,”  I returned.  “ I have  seen  you  in  the  society 
of  many  beautiful  young  women ; ” as  in  truth  I had,  and 
always  (I  now  remember)  in  the  act  of  making  the  most  of 
his  legs. 

“No  doubt,”  said  he.  “And  you’ve  seen  me  along  with 
warses  of  flowers,  and  any  number  of  table-kivers,  and  antique 
cabinets,  and  warious  gammon.” 

“Sir?”  said  I. 

“And  warious  gammon,”  he  repeated,  in  a louder  voice. 
“You  might  have  seen  me  in  armor,  too,  if  you  had  looked 
sharp.  Blessed  if  I ha’n’t  stood  in  half  the  suits  of  armor  as 
ever  came  out  of  Pratt’s  shop : and  sat,  for  weeks  together,  a 
eating  nothing,  out  of  half  the  gold  and  silver  dishes  as  has 
ever  been  lent  for  the  purpose  out  of  Storrses,  and  Morti- 
merses,  or  G-arrardses,  and  Davenportseseses.” 

Excited,  as  it  appeared,  by  a sense  of  injury,  I thought  he 
never  would  have  found  an  end  for  the  last  word.  But,  at 
length  it  rolled  sullenly  away  with  the  thunder. 

“Pardon  me,”  said  I,  “you  are  a well-favored,  well-made 
man,  and  yet  — forgive  me  — I find,  on  examining  my  mind, 
that  I associate  you  with  — that  my  recollection  indistinctly 
makes  you,  in  short  — excuse  me  — a kind  of  powerful  mon- 
ster.” 

“It  would  be  a wonder  if  it  didn’t,”  he  said.  “Do  you 
know  what  my  points  are  ? ” 

“No,”  said  I. 

“ My  throat  and  my  legs,”  said  he.  “ When  I don’t  set  for 
a head,  I mostly  sets  for  a throat  and  a pair  of  legs.  Now, 
granted  you  was  a painter,  and  was  to  work  at  my  throat  for 
a week  together,  I suppose  you’d  see  a lot  of  lumps  and  bumps 


THE  GHOST  OF  ART. 


275 


there,  that  would  never  be  there  at  all,  if  you  looked  at  me, 
complete,  instead  of  only  my  throat.  Wouldn’t  you?  ” 

“ Probably,”  said  I,  surveying  him. 

“Why,  it  stands  to  reason,”  said  the  Model.  “Work 
another  week  at  my  legs,  and  it’ll  be  the  same  thing. 
You’ll  make  ’em  out  as  knotty  and  as  knobby,  at  last,  as  if 
they  was  the  trunks  of  two  old  trees.  Then,  take  and  stick 
my  legs  and  throat  on  to  another  man’s  body,  and  you’ll 
make  a reg’lar  monster.  And  that’s  the  way  the  public  gets 
their  reg’lar  monsters,  every  first  Monday  in  May,  when  the 
Royal  Academy  Exhibition  opens.” 

“You  are  a critic,”  said  I,  with  an  air  of  deference. 

“Pm  in  an  uncommon  ill  humor,  if  that’s  it,”  rejoined  the 
Model,  with  great  indignation.  “As  if  it  warn’t  bad  enough 
for  a bob  a-hour,  for  a man  to  be  mixing  himself  up  with  that 
there  jolly  old  furniter  that  one  ’ud  think  the  public  know’d 
the  wery  nails  in  by  this  time  — or  to  be  putting  on  greasy 
old  ats  and  cloaks,  and  playing  tambourines  in  the  Bay  o’ 
Naples,  with  Wesuvius  a smokin’  according  to  pattern  in  the 
background,  and  the  wines  a bearing  wonderful  in  the  middle 
distance  — or  to  be  unpolitely  kicking  up  his  legs  among  a lot 
o’  gals,  with  no  reason  whatever  in  his  mind,  but  to  show  ’em 
— as  if  this  warn’t  bad  enough,  I’m  to  go  and  be  thrown  out 
of  employment  too  ! ” 

“ Surely  no  ! ” said  I. 

“ Surely  yes,”  said  the  indignant  Model.  “ But  I’ll  grow 

ONE.” 

The  gloomy  and  threatening  manner  in  which  he  muttered 
the  last  words,  can  never  be  effaced  from  my  remembrance. 
My  blood  ran  cold. 

I asked  of  myself,  what  was  it  that  this  desperate  Being 
was  resolved  to  grow  ? My  breast  made  no  response. 

I ventured  to  implore  him  to  explain  his  meaning.  With  a 
scornful  laugh,  he  uttered  this  dark  prophecy : 

“ I’ll  grow  one.  And,  mark  my  words,  it  shall 

HAUNT  YOU  ! ” 

We  parted  in  the  storm,  after  I had  forced  half-a-crown  on 
his  acceptance,  with  a trembling  hand.  I conclude  that  some- 
thing supernatural  happened  to  the  steamboat,  as  it  bore 


276 


THE  GHOST  OF  ART. 


his  reeking  figure  down  the  river ; but  it  never  got  into  the 
papers. 

Two  years  elapsed,  during  which  I followed  my  profession 
without  any  vicissitudes ; never  holding  so  much  as  a motion, 
of  course.  At  the  expiration  of  that  period,  I found  myself 
making  my  way  home  to  the  Temple,  one  night,  in  precisely 
such  another  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning  as  that  by  which 
I had  been  overtaken  on  board  the  steamboat  — except  that 
this  storm,  bursting  over  the  town  at  midnight,  was  rendered 
much  more  awful  by  the  darkness  and  the  hour. 

As  I turned  into  my  court,  I really  thought  a thunderbolt 
would  fall,  and  plough  the  pavement  up.  Every  brick  and  stone 
in  the  place  seemed  to  have  an  echo  of  its  own  for  the  thunder. 
The  water-spouts  were  overcharged,  and  the  rain  came  tearing 
down  from  the  house-tops  as  if  they  had  been  mountain-tops. 

Mrs.  Parkins,  my  laundress  — wife  of  Parkins  the  porter, 
then  newly  dead  of  a dropsy  — had  particular  instructions  to 
place  a bedroom  candle  and  a match  under  the  staircase  lamp 
on  my  landing,  in  order  that  I might  light  my  candle  there, 
whenever  I came  home.  Mrs.  Parkins  invariably  disregarding 
all  instructions,  they  were  never  there.  Thus  it  happened 
that  on  this  occasion  I groped  my  way  into  my  sitting-room 
to  find  the  candle,  and  came  out  to  light  it. 

What  were  my  emotions  when,  underneath  the  staircase 
lamp,  shining  with  wet  as  if  he  had  never  been  dry  since  our 
last  meeting,  stood  the  mysterious  Being  whom  I had  encoun- 
tered on  the  steamboat  in  a thunder-storm,  two  years  before  ! 
His  prediction  rushed  upon  my  mind,  and  I turned  faint. 

“ I said  Pd  do  it,”  he  observed,  in  a hollow  voice,  “ and  I 
have  done  it.  May  I come  in  ? ” 

“ Misguided  creature,  what  have  you  done  ? ” I returned. 

“ I’ll  let  you  know,”  was  his  reply,  “ if  you’ll  let  me  in.” 

Could  it  be  murder  that  he  had  done  ? And  had  he  been  so 
successful  that  he  wanted  to  do  it  again,  at  my  expense  ? 

I hesitated. 

“ May  I come  in  ? ” said  he. 

I inclined  my  head,  with  as  much  presence  of  mind  as  I 
could  command,  and  he  followed  me  into  my  chambers.  There, 
I saw  that  the  lower  part  of  his  face  was  tied  up,  in  what  is 


THE  GHOST  OF  ART. 


277 


commonly  called  a Belcher  handkerchief.  He  slowly  removed 
this  bandage,  and  exposed  to  view  a long  dark  beard,  curling 
over  his  upper  lip,  twisting  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
and  hanging  down  upon  his  breast. 

“ What  is  this  ? ” I exclaimed,  involuntarily,  “ and  what  have 
you  become  ? ” 

“ I am  the  Ghost  of  Art ! ” said  he. 

The  effect  of  these  words,  slowly  uttered  in  the  thunder- 
storm at  midnight,  was  appalling  in  the  last  degree.  More 
dead  than  alive,  I surveyed  him  in  silence. 

“ The  German  taste  came  up,”  said  he,  “ and  threw  me  out 
of  bread.  I am  ready  for  the  taste  now.” 

He  made  his  beard  a little  jagged  with  his  hands,  folded 
his  arms,  and  said, 

“ Severity ! ” 

I shuddered.  It  was  so  severe. 

He  made  his  beard  flowing  on  his  breast,  and,  leaning  both 
hands  on  the  staff  of  a carpet-broom,  which  Mrs.  Parkins  had 
left  among  my  books,  said : 

“ Benevolence.” 

I stood  transfixed.  The  change  of  sentiment  was  entirely 
in  the  beard.  The  man  might  have  left  his  face  alone,  or  had 
no  face.  The  beard  did  everything. 

He  lay  down,  on  his  back,  on  my  table,  and  with  that  action 
of  his  head  threw  up  his  beard  at  the  chin. 

“ That’s  death  ! ” said  he. 

He  got  off  my  table  and,  looking  up  at  the  ceiling,  cocked 
his  beard  a little  awry ; at  the  same  time  making  it  stick  out 
before  him. 

“ Adoration,  or  a vow  of  vengeance,”  he  observed. 

He  turned  his  profile  to  me,  making  his  upper  lip  very  bulgy 
with  the  upper  part  of  his  beard. 

“ Romantic  character,”  said  he. 

He  looked  sideways  out  of  his  beard,  as  if  it  were  an  ivy- 
bush.  “ Jealousy,”  said  he.  He  gave  it  an  ingenious  twist 
in  the  air,  and  informed  me  that  he  was  carousing.  He  made 
it  shaggy  with  his  fingers — and  it  was  Despair;  lank  — and 
it  was  avarice  ; tossed  it  all  kinds  of  ways  — and  it  wras  rage. 
The  beard  did  everything. 


278 


THE  GHOST  OF  ART. 


“ I am  the  Ghost  of  Art/’  said  he.  u Two  bob  a-day  now, 
and  more  when  it’s  longer  ! Hair’s  the  true  expression.  There 
is  no  other.  I said  I’d  grow  it,  and  I’ye  grown  it,  and  it 

SHALL  HAUNT  YOU  ! ” 

He  may  have  tumbled  down  stairs  in  the  dark,  but  he 
never  walked  down  or  ran  down.  I looked  over  the  banisters, 
and  I was  alone  with  the  thunder. 

Need  I add  more  of  my  terrific  fate  ? It  has  haunted  me 
ever  since.  It  glares  upon  me  from  the  walls  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  (except  when  Maclise  subdues  it  to  his  genius,)  it 
fills  my  soul  with  terror  at  the  British  Institution,  it  lures 
young  artists  on  to  their  destruction.  Go  where  I will,  the 
Ghost  of  Art,  eternally  working  the  passions  in  hair,  and  ex- 
pressing everything  by  beard,  pursues  me.  The  prediction  is 
accomplished,  and  the  victim  has  no  rest. 


OUT  OF  TOWN. 


Sitting,  on  a bright  September  morning,  among  my  books 
and  papers  at  my  open  window  on  the  cliff  overhanging  the 
sea-beach,  I have  the  sky  and  ocean  framed  before  me  like  a 
beautiful  picture.  A beautiful  picture,  but  with  such  move- 
ment in  it,  such  changes  of  light  upon  the  sails  of  ships  and 
wake  of  steamboats,  such  dazzling  gleams  of  silver  far  out  at 
sea,  such  fresh  touches  on  the  crisp  wave-tops  as  they  break 
and  roll  towards  me  — a picture  with  such  music  in  the  billowy 
rush  upon  the  shingle,  the  blowing  of  the  morning  wind  through 
the  corn-sheaves  where  the  farmer’s  wagons  are  busy,  the  sing- 
ing of  the  larks,  and  the  distant  voices  of  children  at  play  — 
such  charms  of  sight  and  sound  as  all  the  Galleries  on  earth 
can  but  poorly  suggest. 

So  dreamy  is  the  murmur  of  the  sea  below  my  window, 
that  I may  have  been  here,  for  anything  I know,  one  hundred 
years.  Not  that  I have  grown  old,  for,  daily  on  the  neighbor- 
ing downs  and  grassy  hill-sides,  I find  that  I can  still  in  reason 
walk  any  distance,  jump  over  any  thing,  and  climb  up  any- 
where ; but,  that  the  sound  of  the  ocean  seems  to  have  become 
so  customary  to  my  musings,  and  other  realities  seem  so  to 
have  gone  aboard  ship  and  floated  away  over  the  horizon, 
that,  for  aught  I will  undertake  to  the  contrary,  I am  the 
enchanted  son  of  the  King  my  father,  shut  up  in  a tower  on 
the  sea-shore,  for  protection  against  an  old  she-goblin  who 
insisted  on  being  my  godmother,  and  who  foresaw  at  the  font 
— wonderful  creature  ! — that  I should  get  into  a scrape  before 
I was  twenty-one.  I remember  to  have  been  in  a City  (my 
Royal  parent’s  dominions,  I suppose)  and  apparently  not  long 
ago  either,  that  was  in  the  dreariest  condition.  The  principal 
inhabitants  had  all  been  changed  into  old  newspapers,  and  in 
that  form  were  preserving  their  window-blinds  from  dust,  and 

279 


280 


OUT  OF  TOWN. 


wrajjping  all  their  smaller  household  gods  in  curl-papers.  I 
walked  through  gloomy  streets  where  every  house  was  shut 
up  and  newspapered,  and  where  my  solitary  footsteps  echoed 
on  the  deserted  pavements.  In  the  public  rides  there  were  no 
carriages,  no  horses,  no  animated  existence,  but  a few  sleepy 
policemen,  and  a few  adventurous  boys  taking  advantage  of 
the  devastation  to  swarm  up  the  lamp-posts.  In  the  West- 
ward streets  there  was  no  traffic  ; in  the  Westward  shops,  no 
business.  The  water-patterns  which  the  ’Prentices  had  trickled 
out  on  the  pavements  early  in  the  morning,  remained  uneffaced 
by  human  feet.  At  the  corners  of  mews,  Cochin-China  fowls 
stalked  gaunt  and  savage ; nobody  being  left  in  the  deserted 
city  (as  it  appeared  to  me),  to  feed  them.  Public  Houses, 
where  splendid  footmen  swinging  their  legs  over  gorgeous 
hammer-cloths  beside  wigged  coachmen  were  wont  to  regale, 
were  silent,  and  the  unused  pewter  pots  shone,  too  bright  for 
business,  on  the  shelves.  I beheld  a Punch’s  Show  leaning 
against  a wall  near  Park  Lane,  as  if  it  had  fainted.  It  was 
deserted,  and  there  was  none  to  heed  its  desolation.  In 
Belgrave  Square  I met  the  last  man  — an  ostler  — sitting  on 
a post  in  a ragged  red  waistcoat,  eating  straw,  and  mildewing 
away. 

If  I recollect  the  name  of  the  little  town,  on  whose  shore 
this  sea  is  murmuring  — but  I am  not  just  now,  as  I have 
premised,  to  be  relied  upon  for  anything  — it  is  Pavilionstone. 

Within  a quarter  of  a century,  it  was  a little  fishing  town, 
and  they  do  say,  that  the  time  was,  when  it  was  a little 
smuggling  town.  I have  heard  that  it  was  rather  famous  in 
the  hollands  and  brandy  way,  and  that  coevally  with  that 
reputation  the  lamplighter’s  was  considered  a bad  life  at  the 
Assurance  offices.  It  was  observed  that  if  he  were  not 
particular  about  lighting  up,  he  lived  in  peace  ; but,  that  if  he 
made  the  best  of  the  oil-lamps  in  the  steep  and  narrow  streets, 
he  usually  fell  over  the  cliff  at  an  early  age.  How,  gas  and 
electricity  run  to  the  very  water’s  edge,  and  the  South  Eastern 
Bailway  Company  screech  at  us  in  the  dead  of  night. 

But,  the  old  little  fishing  and  smuggling  town  remains,  and 
is  so  tempting  a place  for  the  latter  purpose,  that  I think  of 
going  out  some  night  next  week,  in  a fur  cap  and  a pair  of 


OUT  OF  TOWN. 


281 


petticoat  trousers,  and  running  an  empty  tub,  as  a kind  of 
archaeological  pursuit.  Let  nobody  with  corns  come  to  Pavil- 
ion stone,  for  there  are  break-neck  flights  of  ragged  steps 
connecting  the  principal  streets  by  back-ways,  which  will 
cripple  that  visitor  in  half  an  hour.  These  are  the  ways  by 
which,  when  I run  that  tub,  I shall  escape.  I shall  make  a 
Thermopylae  of  the  corner  of  one  of  them,  defend  it  with  my 
cutlass  against  the  coast-guard  until  my  brave  companions 
have  sheered  off,  then  dive  into  the  darkness,  and  regain  my 
Susan’s  arms.  In  connection  with  these  break-neck  steps  I 
observe  some  wooden  cottages,  with  tumble-down  out-houses, 
and  back-yards  three  feet  square,  adorned  with  garlands  of 
dried  fish,  in  which  (though  the  General  Board  of  Health 
might  object),  my  Susan  dwells. 

The  South  Eastern  Company  have  brought  Pavilionstone 
into  such  vogue,  with  their  tidal  trains  and  splendid  steam- 
packets,  that  a new  Pavilionstone  is  rising  up.  I am,  myself, 
of  New  Pavilionstone.  We  are  a little  mortary  and  limey  at 
present,  but  we  are  getting  on  capitally.  Indeed,  we  were 
getting  on  so  fast,  at  one  time,  that  we  rather  overdid  it,  and 
built  a street  of  shops,  the  business  of  which  may  be  expected 
to  arrive  in  about  ten  years.  We  are  sensibly  laid  out  in 
general;  and  with  a little  care  and  pains  (by  no  means 
wanting,  so  far),  shall  become  a very  pretty  place.  We  ought 
to  be,  for  our  situation  is  delightful,  our  air  is  delicious,  and 
our  breezy  hills  and  downs,  carpeted  with  wild  thyme,  and 
decorated  with  millions  of  wild  flowers,  are,  on  the  faith  of  a 
pedestrian,  perfect.  In  New  Pavilionstone  we  are  a little  too 
much  addicted  to  small  windows  with  more  bricks  in  them 
than  glass,  and  we  are  not  over-fanciful  in  the  way  of  dec- 
orative architecture,  and  we  get  unexpected  sea- views  through 
cracks  in  the  street-doors  ; on  the  whole,  however,  we  are  very 
snug  and  comfortable,  and  well  accommodated.  But  the  Home 
Secretary  (if  there  be  such  an  officer)  cannot  too  soon  shut 
up  the  burial-ground  of  the  old  parish  church.  It  is  in  the 
midst  of  us,  and  Pavilionstone  will  get  no  good  of  it,  if  it  be 
too  long  left  alone. 

The  lion  of  Pavilionstone  is  its  Great  Hotel.  A dozen  years 
ago,  going  over  to  Paris  by  South  Eastern  Tidal  Steamer,  you 


282 


OUT  OF  TOWN . 


used  to  be  dropped  upon  the  platform  of  the  main  line 
Pavilionstone  Station  (not  a junction  then),  at  eleven  o’clock 
on  a dark  winter’s  night,  in  a roaring  wind;  and  in  the 
howling  wilderness  outside  the  station,  was  a short  omnibus 
which  brought  you  up  by  the  forehead  the  instant  you  got  in 
at  the  door  ; and  nobody  cared  about  you,  and  you  were  alone 
in  the  world.  You  bumped  over  infinite  chalk,  until  you 
were  turned  out  at  a strange  building  which  had  just  left  off 
being  a barn  without  having  quite  begun  to  be  a house,  where 
nobody  expected  your  coming,  or  knew  what  to  do  with  you 
when  you  were  come,  and  where  you  were  usually  blown 
about,  until  you  happened  to  be  blown  against  the  cold  beef, 
and  finally  into  bed.  At  five  in  the  morning  you  were  blown 
out  of  bed,  and  after  a dreary  breakfast,  with  crumpled  com- 
pany, in  the  midst  of  confusion,  were  hustled  on  board  a 
steamboat  and  lay  wrretched  on  deck  until  you  saw  France 
lunging  and  surging  at  you  with  great  vehemence  over  the 
bowsprit. 

Now,  you  come  down  to  Pavilionstone  in  a free  and  easy 
manner,  an  irresponsible  agent,  made  over  in  trust  to  the 
South  Eastern  Company,  until  you  get  out  of  the  railway- 
carriage  at  high-water  mark.  If  you  are  crossing  by  the  boat 
at  once,  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  walk  on  board  and  be  happy 
there  if  you  can  — I can’t.  If  you  are  going  to  our  Great 
Pavilionstone  Hotel,  the  sprightliest  porters  under  the  sun, 
whose  cheerful  looks  are  a pleasant  welcome,  shoulder  your 
luggage,  drive  it  off  in  vans,  bowl  it  away  in  trucks,  and  enjoy 
themselves  in  playing  athletic  games  with  it.  If  you  are  for 
public  life  at  our  great  Pavilionstone  Hotel,  you  walk  into 
that  establishment  as  if  it  were  your  club ; and  find  ready 
for  you,  your  news-room,  dining-room,  smoking-room,  billiard- 
room,  music-room,  public  breakfast,  public  dinner  twice  a day 
(one  plain,  one  gorgeous),  hot  baths  and  cold  baths.  If  you 
want  to  be  bored,  there  are  plenty  of  bores  always  ready  for 
you,  and  from  Saturday  to  Monday  in  particular,  you  can  be 
bored  (if  you  like  it)  through  and  through.  Should  you  want 
to  be  private  at  our  Great  Pavilionstone  Hotel,  say  but  the 
word,  look  at  the  list  of  charges,  choose  your  floor,  name  your 
figure  — there  you  are,  established  in  your  castle,  by  the  day, 


OUT  OF  TOWN . 


283 


week,  month,  or  year,  innocent  of  all  comers  or  goers,  unless 
you  have  my  fancy  for  walking  early  in  the  morning  down 
the  groves  of  boots  and  shoes,  which  so  regularly  flourish  at 
all  the  chamber-doors  before  breakfast,  that  it  seems  to  me  as 
if  nobody  ever  got  up  or  took  them  in.  Are  you  going  across 
the  Alps,  and  would  you  like  to  air  your  Italian  at  our  Great 
Pavilionstone  Hotel  ? Talk  to  the  Manager  — always  conver- 
sational, accomplished,  and  polite.  Do  you  want  to  be  aided, 
abetted,  comforted,  or  advised,  at  our  Great  Pavilionstone 
Hotel  ? Send  for  the  good  landlord,  and  he  is  your  friend. 
Should  you,  or  any  one  belonging  to  you  ever  be  taken  ill  at 
our  Great  Pavilionstone  Hotel  you  will  not  soon  forget  him 
or  his  kind  wife.  And  when  you  pay  your  bill  at  our  Great 
Pavilionstone  Hotel,  you  will  not  be  put  out  of  humor  by  any- 
thing you  find  in  it. 

A thoroughly  good  inn,  in  the  days  of  coaching  and  posting, 
was  a noble  place.  But,  no  such  inn  would  have  been  equal 
to  the  reception  of  four  or  five  hundred  people,  all  of  them 
wet  through,  and  half  of  them  dead  sick,  every  day  in  the 
year.  This  is  where  we  shine,  in  our  Pavilionstone  Hotel. 
Again  — who,  coming  and  going,  pitching  and  tossing,  boating 
and  training,  hurrying  in,  and  flying  out,  could  ever  have  cal- 
culated the  fees  to  be  paid  at  an  old-fashioned  house  ? In 
our  Pavilionstone  Hotel  vocabulary,  there  is  no  such  word  as 
fee.  Everything  is  done  for  you ; every  service  is  provided 
at  a fixed  and  reasonable  charge  ; all  the  prices  are  hung  up  in 
all  the  rooms ; and  you  can  make  out  your  own  bill  before- 
hand, as  well  as  the  bookkeeper. 

In  the  case  of  your  being  a pictorial  artist,  desirous  of 
studying  at  small  expense  the  physiognomies  and  beards  of 
different  nations,  come,  on  receipt  of  this,  to  Pavilionstone. 
You  shall  find  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  and  all  the  styles 
of  shaving  and  not  shaving,  hair-cutting  and  hair  letting 
alone,  for  ever  flowing  through  our  hotel.  Couriers  you  shall 
see  by  hundreds;  fat  leathern  bags  for  five-franc  pieces, 
closing  with  violent  snaps,  like  discharges  of  fire-arms,  by 
thousands ; more  luggage  in  a morning  than,  fifty  years  ago, 
all  Europe  saw  in  a week.  Looking  at  trains,  steamboats, 
sick  travellers,  and  luggage,  is  our  great  Pavilionstone  recrea- 


284 


OUT  OF  TOWN. 


tion.  We  are  not  strong  in  other  public  amusements.  We 
have  a Literary  and  Scientific  Institution,  and  we  have  a 
Working  Men’s  Institution  — may  it  hold  many  gipsy  holi- 
days in  summer  fields,  with  the  kettle  boiling,  the  band  of 
music  playing,  and  the  people  dancing ; and  may  I be  on  the 
hill-side,  looking  on  with  pleasure  at  a wholesome  sight  too 
rare  in  England ! — and  we  have  two  or  three  churches,  and 
more  chapels  than  I have  yet  added  up.  But  public  amuse- 
ments are  scarce  with  us.  If  a poor  theatrical  manager  comes 
with  his  company  to  give  us,  in  a loft,  Mary  Bax,  or  the 
Murder  on  the  Sand  Hills,  we  don’t  care  much  for  him  — 
starve  him  out,  in  fact.  We  take  more  kindly  to  wax- 
work,  especially  if  it  moves ; in  which  case  it  keeps  much 
clearer  of  the  second  commandment  than  when  it  is  still. 
Cooke’s  Circus  (Mr.  Cooke  is  my  friend,  and  always  leaves 
a good  name  behind  him),  gives  us  only  a night  in  passing 
through.  Nor  does  the  travelling  menagerie  think  us  worth 
a longer  visit.  It  gave  us  a look-in  the  other  day,  bringing 
with  it  the  residentiary  van  with  the  stained  glass  windows, 
which  Her  Majesty  kept  ready-made  at  Windsor  Castle,  until 
she  found  a suitable  opportunity  of  submitting  it  for  the 
proprietor’s  acceptance.  I brought  away  five  wonderments 
from  this  exhibition.  I have  wondered,  ever  since,  Whether 
the  beasts  ever  do  get  used  to  those  small  places  of  confine- 
ment ; Whether  the  monkeys  have  that  very  horrible  flavor 
in  their  free  state ; Whether  wild  animals  have  a natural  ear 
for  time  and  tune,  and  therefore  every  four-footed  creature 
began  to  howl  in  despair  when  the  band  began  to  play ; What 
the  giraffe  does  with  his  neck  when  his  cart  is  shut  up ; and, 
Whether  the  elephant  feels  ashamed  of  himself  when  he  is 
brought  out  of  his  den  to  stand  on. his  head  in  the  presence  of 
the  whole  Collection. 

We  are  a tidal  harbor  at  Pavilionstone,  as  indeed  I have 
implied  already  in  my  mention  of  tidal  trains.  At  low-water, 
we  are  a heap  of  mud,  with  an  empty  channel  in  it  where  a 
couple  of  men  in  big  boots  always  shovel  and  scoop : with 
what  exact  object,  I am  unable  to  say.  At  that  time,  all  the 
stranded  fishing-boats  turn  over  on  their  sides,  as  if  they  were 
dead  marine  monsters ; the  colliers  and  other  shipping  stick 


OUT  OF  TOWN . 


285 


disconsolate  in  the  mud ; the  steamers  look  as  if  their  white 
chimneys  would  never  smoke  more,  and  their  red  paddles 
never  turn  again;  the  green  sea-slime  and  weed  upon  the 
rough  stones  at  the  entrance,  seem  records  of  obsolete  high 
tides  never  more  to  flow ; the  flagstaff -halyards  droop ; the 
very  little  wooden  lighthouse  shrinks  in  the  idle  glare  of  the 
sun.  And  here  I may  observe  of  the  very  little  wooden  light- 
house, that  when  it  is  lighted  at  night,  — red  and  green,  — it 
looks  so  like  a medical  man’s,  that  several  distracted  husbands 
have  at  various  times  been  found,  on  occasions  of  premature 
domestic  anxiety,  going  round  and  round  it,  trying  to  find  the 
Nightbell. 

But,  the  moment  the  tide  begins  to  make,  the  Pavilionstone 
Harbor  begins  to  revive.  It  feels  the  breeze  of  the  rising 
water  before  the  water  comes,  and  begins  to  flutter  and  stir. 
When  the  little  shallow  waves  creep  in,  barely  overlapping 
one  another,  the  vanes  at  the  mastheads  wake,  and  become 
agitated.  As  the  tide  rises,  the  fishing-boats  get  into  good 
spirits  and  dance,  the  flagstaff  hoists  a bright  red  flag,  the 
steamboat  smokes,  cranes  creak,  horses  and  carriages  dangle 
in  the  air,  stray  passengers  and  luggage  appear.  Now,  the 
shipping  is  afloat,  and  comes  up  buoyantly,  to  look  at  the 
wharf.  Now,  the  carts  that  have  come  down  for  coals,  load 
away  as  hard  as  they  can  load.  Now,  the  steamer  smokes 
immensely,  and  occasionally  blows  at  the  paddle-boxes  like  a 
vaporous  whale  — greatly  disturbing  nervous  loungers.  Now, 
both  the  tide  and  the  breeze  have  risen,  and  you  are  holding 
your  hat  on  (if  you  want  to  see  how  the  ladies  hold  their  hats 
on,  with  a stay,  passing  over  the  broad  brim  and  down  the 
nose,  come  to  Pavilionstone).  Now,  everything  in  the  harbor 
splashes,  dashes,  and  bobs.  Now,  the  Down  Tidal  Train  is 
telegraphed,  and  you  know  (without  knowing  how  you  know), 
that  two  hundred  and  eighty-seven  people  are  coming.  Now, 
the  fishing-boats  that  have  been  out,  sail  in  at  the  top  of  the 
tide.  Now,  the  bell  goes,  and  the  locomotive  hisses  and 
shrieks,  and  the  train  comes  gliding  in,  and  the  two  hundred 
and  eighty-seven  come  scuffling  out.  Now,  there  is  not  only 
a tide  of  water,  but  a tide  of  people,  and  a tide  of  luggage  — 
all  tumbling  and  flowing  and  bouncing  about  together.  Now, 


286 


OUT  OF  TOWN. 


after  infinite  bustle,  the  steamer  steams  out,  and  we  (on  the 
Pier)  are  all  delighted  when  she  rolls  as  if  she  would  roll  her 
funnel  out,  and  are  all  disappointed  when  she  don’t.  Now, 
the  other  steamer  is  coming  in,  and  the  Custom-House  pre- 
pares, and  the  wharf-laborers  assemble,  and  the  hawsers  are 
made  ready,  and  the  Hotel  Porters  come  rattling,  down  with 
van  and  truck,  eager  to  begin  more  Olympic  games  with  more 
luggage.  And  this  is  the  way  in  which  we  go  on,  down  at 
Pavilionstone,  every  tide.  And,  if  you  want  to  live  a life  of 
luggage,  or  to  see  it  lived,  or  to  breathe  sweet  air  which  will 
send  you  to  sleep  at  a moment’s  notice  at  any  period  of  the 
day  or  night,  or  to  disport  yourself  upon  or  in  the  sea,  or  to 
scamper  about  Kent,  or  to  come  out  of  town  for  the  enjoyment 
of  all  or  any  of  these  pleasures,  come  to  Pavilionstone. 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON. 


It  fell  to  my  lot,  this  last  bleak  Spring,  to  find  myself  in 
a watering-place  out  of  the  Season.  A vicious  north-east 
squall  blew  me  into  it  from  foreign  parts,  and  I tarried  in  it 
alone  for  three  days,  resolved  to  be  exceedingly  busy. 

On  the  first  day,  I began  business  by  looking  for  two 
hours  at  the  sea,  and  staring  the  Foreign  Militia  out  of 
countenance.  Having  disposed  of  these  important  engage- 
ments, I sat  down  at  one  of  the  two  windows  of  my  room, 
intent  on  doing  something  desperate  in  the  way  of  literary 
composition,  and  writing  a chapter  of  unheard-of  excellence 
— with  which  the  present  essay  has  no  connection. 

It  is  a remarkable  quality  in  a watering-place  out  of  the 
season,  that  everything  in  it,  will  and  must  be  looked  at.  I 
had  no  previous  suspicion  of  this  fatal  truth ; but,  the 
moment  I sat  down  to  write,  I began  to  perceive  it.  I had 
scarcely  fallen  into  my  most  promising  attitude,  and  dipped 
my  pen  in  the  ink,  when  I found  the  clock  upon  the  pier  — 
a red-faced  clock  with  a white  rim  — importuning  me  in  a 
highly  vexatious  manner  to  consult  my  watch,  and  see  how  I 
was  off  for  Greenwich  time.  Having  no  intention  of  making 
a voyage  or  taking  an  observation,  I had  not  the  least  need  of 
Greenwich  time,  and  could  have  put  up  with  watering-place 
time  as  a sufficiently  accurate  article.  The  pier-clock,  how- 
ever, persisting,  I felt  it  necessary  to  lay  down  my  pen,  com- 
pare my  watch  with  him,  and  fall  into  a grave  solicitude 
about  half-seconds.  I had  taken  up  my  pen  again,  and  was 
about  to  commence  that  valuable  chapter,  when  a Custom- 
house cutter  under  the  window  requested  that  I would  hold  a 
naval  review  of  her,  immediately. 

It  was  impossible,  under  the  circumstances,  for  any  mental 
resolution,  merely  human,  to  dismiss  the  Custom-house  cutter, 

287 


288 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON . 


because  the  shadow  of  her  topmast  fell  upon  my  paper,  and 
the  vane  played  on  the  masterly  blank  chapter.  I was  there- 
fore under  the  necessity  of  going  to  the  other  window ; sit- 
ting astride  of  the  chair  there,  like  Napoleon  bivouacking  in 
the  print ; and  inspecting  the  cutter  as  she  lay,  all  that  day, 
in  the  way  of  my  chapter,  0 ! She  was  rigged  to  carry  a 
quantity  of  canvas,  but  her  hull  was  so  very  small  that  four 
giants  aboard  of  her  (three  men  and  a boy)  who  were 
vigilantly  scraping  at  her,  all  together,  inspired  me  with  a 
terror  lest  they  should  scrape  her  away.  A fifth  giant,  who 
appeared  to  consider  himself  “ below  ” — as  indeed  he  was, 
from  the  waist  downwards  — meditated,  in  such  close  proxim- 
ity with  the  little  gusty  chimney-pipe,  that  he  seemed  to  be 
smoking  it.  Several  boys  looked  on  from  the  wharf,  and, 
when  the  gigantic  attention  appeared  to  be  fully  occupied, 
one  or  other  of  these  would  furtively  swing  himself  in  mid- 
air over  the  Custom-house  cutter,  by  means  of  a line  pendent* 
from  her  rigging,  like  a young  spirit  of  the  storm.  Presently, 
a sixth  hand  brought  down  two  little  water-casks  ; presently 
afterwards,  a truck  came,  and  delivered  a hamper.  I was 
now  under  an  obligation  to  consider  that  the  cutter  was  going 
on  a cruise,  and  to  wonder  where  she  was  going,  and  when 
she  was  going,  and  why  she  was  going,  and  at  what  date  she 
might  be  expected  back,  and  who  commanded  her  ? With 
these  pressing  questions  I was  fully  occupied  when  the  Packet, 
making  ready  to  go  across,  and  blowing  off  her  spare  steam, 
roared,  “ Look  at  me  ! ” 

It  became  a positive  duty  to  look  at  the  Packet  preparing 
to  go  across ; aboard  of  which,  the  people  newly  come  down 
by  the  railroad  were  hurrying  in  a great  fluster.  The  crew 
had  got  their  tarry  overalls  on  — and  one  knew  what  that 
meant  — not  to  mention  the  white  basins,  ranged  in  neat  lit- 
tle piles  of  a dozen  each,  behind  the  door  of  the  after-cabin. 
One  lady,  as  I looked,  one  resigning  and  far-seeing  woman, 
took  her  basin  from  the  store  of  crockery,  as  she  might  have 
taken  a refreshment-ticket,  laid  herself  down  on  deck  with 
that  utensil  at  her  ear,  muffled  her  feet  in  one  shawl, 
solemnly  covered  her  countenance  after  the  antique  manner 
with  au other,  and  on  the  completion  of  these  preparations 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON. 


289 


appeared  by  the  strength  of  her  volition  to  become  insensible* 
The  mail-bags  (0  that  I myself  had  the  sea-legs  of  a mail- 
bag  !)  were  tumbled  aboard ; the  Packet  left  off  roaring, 
warped  out,  and  made  at  the  white  line  upon  the  bar.  One 
dip,  one  roll,  one  break  of  the  sea  over  her  bows,  and  Moore’s 
Almanack  or  the  sage  Raphael  could  not  have  told  me  more 
of  the  state  of  things  aboard,  than  I knew. 

The  famous  chapter  was  all  but  begun  now,  and  would 
have  been  quite  begun,  but  for  the  wind.  It  was  blowing 
stiffly  from  the  east,  and  it  rumbled  in  the  chimney  and  shook 
the  house.  That  was  not  much ; but,  looking  out  into  the 
wind’s  gray  eye  for  inspiration,  I laid  down  my  pen  again  to 
make  the  remark  to  myself,  how  emphatically  everything  by 
the  sea  declares  that  it  has  a great  concern  in  the  state  of  the 
wind.  The  trees  blown  all  one  way;  the  defences  of  the 
harbor  reared  highest  and  strongest  against  the  raging  point ; 
* the  shingle  flung  up  on  the  beach  from  the  same  direction ; 
the  number  of  arrows  pointed  at  the  common  enemy ; the  sea 
tumbling  in  and  rushing  towards  them  as  if  it  were  inflamed 
by  the  sight.  This  put  it  in  my  head  that  I really  ought  to  go 
out  and  take  a walk  in  the  wind ; so,  I gave  up  the  magnifi- 
cent chapter  for  that  day,  entirely  persuading  myself  that  I 
was  under  a moral  obligation  to  have  a blow. 

I had  a good  one,  and  that  on  the  high  road  — the  very 
high  road  — on  the  top  of  the  cliffs,  where  I met  the  stage- 
coach with  all  the  outsides  holding  their  hats  on  and  them- 
selves too,  and  overtook  a flock  of  sheep  with  the  wool  about 
their  necks  blown  into  such  great  ruffs  that  they  looked  like 
fleecy  owls.  The  wind  played  upon  the  lighthouse  as  if  it 
were  a great  whistle,  the  spray  was  driven  over  the  sea  in  a 
cloud  of  haze,  the  ships  rolled  and  pitched  heavily,  and  at 
intervals  long  slants  and  flaws  of  light  made  mountain-steeps 
of  communication  between  the  ocean  and  the  sky.  A walk 
of  ten  miles  brought  me  to  a seaside  town  without  a cliff, 
which,  like  the  town  I had  come  from,  was  out  of  the  season 
too.  Half  of  the  houses  were  shut  up ; half  of  the  other 
half  were  to  let ; the  town  might  have  done  as  much  business 
as  it  was  doing  then,  if  it  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Nobody  seemed  to  flourish  save  the  attorney ; his  clerk’s  pen 

VOL.  II  — 19 


290 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON. 


was  going  in  the  bow-window  of  his  wooden  house;  his  brass 
door-plate  alone  was  free  from  salt,  and  had  been  polished  up 
that  morning.  On  the  beach,  among  the  rough  luggers  and 
capstans,  groups  of  storm-beaten  boatmen,  like  a sort  of 
marine  monsters,  watched  under  the  lee  of  those  objects,  or 
stood  leaning  forward  against  the  Avind,  looking  out  through 
battered  spy-glasses.  The  parlor  bell  in  the  Admiral  Benbow 
had  grown  so  flat  with  being  out  of  the  season,  that  neither 
could  I hear  it  ring  when  I pulled  the  handle  for  lunch,  nor 
could  the  young  woman  in  black  stockings  and  strong  shoes, 
who  acted  as  waiter  out  of  the  season,  until  it  had  been 
tinkled  three  times. 

Admiral  Benbow’s  cheese  was  out  of  the  season,  but  his 
home-made  bread  was  good,  and  his  beer  was  perfect.  Deluded 
by  some  earlier  spring  day  which  had  been  warm  and  sunny, 
the  Admiral  had  cleared  the  firing  out  of  his  parlor  stove,  and 
had  put  some  flower-pots  in  — which  was  amiable  and  hopeful 
in  the  Admiral,  but  not  judicious  : the  room  being,  at  that 
present  visiting,  transcendently  cold.  I therefore  took  the 
liberty  of  peeping  out  across  a little  stone  passage  into  the 
Admiral’s  kitchen,  and,  seeing  a high  settle  with  its  back 
towards  me  drawn  out  in  front  of  the  Admiral’s  kitchen  fire, 
I strolled  in,  bread  and  cheese  in  hand,  munching  and  looking 
about.  One  landsman  and  two  boatmen  were  seated  on  the 
settle,  smoking  pipes  and  drinking  beer  out  of  thick  pint 
crockery  mugs  — mugs  peculiar  to  such  places,  with  parti- 
colored rings  round  them,  and  ornaments  between  the  rings 
like  frayed-out  roots.  The  landsman  was  relating  his  expe- 
rience, as  yet  only  three  nights’  old,  of  a fearful  running-down 
case  in  the  Channel,  and  therein  presented  to  my  imagination 
a sound  of  music  that  it  will  not  soon  forget. 

“ At  that  identical  moment  of  time,”  said  he  (he  was  a 
prosy  man  by  nature,  who  rose  with  his • subject),  “the  night 
being  light  and  calm,  but  with  a gray  mist  upon  the  water 
that  didn-t  seem  to  spread  for  more  than  two  or  three  mile,  I 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  wooden  cause Avay  next  the  pier, 
off  where  it  happened,  along  with  a friend  of  mine,  which 
his  name  is  Mr.  Clocker.  Mr.  Clocker  is  a grocer  over  yon- 
der.” (From  the  direction  in  which  he  pointed  the  bowl 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON. 


291 


of  his  pipe,  I might  have  judged  Mr.  Clocker  to  be  a Mer- 
man, established  in  the  grocery  trade  in  five-and-twenty 
fathoms  of  water.)  “ We  were  smoking  our  pipes,  and  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  causeway,  talking  of  one  thing  and 
talking  of  another.  We  were  quite  alone  there,  except  that  a 
few  hovellers  ” (the  Kentish  name  for  ?long-shore  boatmen 
like  his  companions)  “were  hanging  about  their  lugs,  waiting 
while  the  tide  made,  as  hovellers  will.”  (One  of  the  two 
boatmen,  thoughtfully  regarding  me,  shut  up  one  eye ; this  I 
understood  to  mean : first,  that  he  took  me  into  the  conver- 
sation : secondly,  that  he  confirmed  the  proposition : thirdly, 
that  he  announced  himself  as  a hoveller.)  “All  of  a sudden 
Mr.  Clocker  and  me  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  by  hearing  a 
sound  come  through  the  stillness,  right  over  the  sea,  like  a 
great  sorrowf  ul  flute  or  AEolian  harp.  We  didn’t  in  the  least 
know  what  it  was,  and  judge  of  our  surprise  when  we  saw  the 
hovellers,  to  a man,  leap  into  the  boats  and  tear  about  to  hoist 
sail  and  get  off,  as  if  they  had  every  one  of  ’em  gone,  in  a 
moment,  raving  mad  ! But  they  knew  it  was  the  cry  of  dis- 
tress from  the  sinking  emigrant  ship.” 

When  I got  back  to  my  watering-place  out  of  the  season, 
and  had  done  my  twenty  miles  in  good  style,  I found  that  the 
celebrated  Black  Mesmerist  intended  favoring  the  public  that 
evening  in  the  Hall  of  the  Muses,  which  he  had  engaged  for 
the  purpose.  After  a good  dinner,  seated  by  the  fire  in  an 
easy  chair,  I began  to  waver  in  a design  I had  formed  of  wait- 
ing on  the  Black  Mesmerist,  and  to  incline  towards  the 
expediency  of  remaining  where  I was.  Indeed  a point  of  gal- 
lantry was  involved  in  my  doing  so,  inasmuch  as  I had  not 
left  France  alone,  but  had  come  from  the  prisons  of  St.  Pelagie 
with  my  distinguished  and  unfortunate  friend  Madame  Boland 
(in  two  volumes  which  I bought  for  two  francs  each,  at  the 
book-stall  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  Paris,  at  the  corner  of 
the  Bue  Boyale).  Deciding  to  pass  the  evening  tete-Atete 
with  Madame  Boland,  I derived,  as  I always  do,  great  pleasure 
from  that  spiritual  woman’s  society,  and  the  charms  of  her 
brave  soul  and  engaging  conversation.  I must  confess  that 
if  she  had  only  some  more  faults,  only  a few  more  passionate 
failings  of  any  kind,  I might  love  her  better ; but  I am  con- 


292 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON. 


tent  to  believe  that  the  deficiency  is  in  me,  and  not  in  her. 
We  spent  some  sadly  interesting  hours  together  on  this  occa- 
sion, and  she  told  me  again  of  her  cruel  discharge  from  the 
Abbaye,  and  of  her  being  re-arrested  before  her  free  feet  had 
sprung  lightly  up  half-a-dozen  steps  of  her  own  staircase,  and 
carried  off  to  the  prison  which  she  only  left  for  the  guillotine. 

Madame  Roland  and  I took  leave  of  one  another  before  mid- 
night, and  I went  to  bed  full  of  vast  intentions  for  next  day, 
in  connection  with  the  unparalleled  chapter.  To  hear  the  for- 
eign mail-steamers  coming  in  at  dawn  of  day,  and  to  know  that 
I was  not  aboard  or  obliged  to  get  up,  was  very  comfortable ; 
so,  I rose  for  the  chapter  in  great  force. 

I had  advanced  so  far  as  to  sit  down  at  my  window  again 
on  my  second  morning,  and  to  write  the  first  half-line  of  the 
chapter  and  strike  it  out,  not  liking  it,  when  my  conscience 
reproached  me  with  not  having  surveyed  the  watering-place 
out  of  the  season,  after  all,  yesterday,  but  with  having  gone 
straight  out  of  it  at  the  rate  of  four  miles  and  a half  an  hour. 
Obviously  the  best  amends  that  I could  make  for  this  remiss- 
ness was  to  go  and  look  at  it  without  another  moment’s  delay. 
So  — altogether  as  a matter  of  duty  — I gave  up  the  magnifi- 
cent chapter  for  another  day,  and  sauntered  out  with  my  hands 
in  my  pockets. 

All  the  houses  and  lodgings  ever  let  to  visitors,  were  to  let 
that  morning.  It  seemed  to  have  snowed  bills  with  To  Let 
upon  them.  This  put  me  upon  thinking  what  the  owners 
of  all  those  apartments  did,  out  of  the  season ; how  they  em- 
ployed their  time,  and  occupied  their  minds.  They  could  not 
be  always  going  to  the  Methodist  chapels,  of  which  I passed 
one  every  other  minute.  They  must  have  some  other  recrea- 
tion. Whether  they  pretended  to  take  one  another’s  lodgings, 
and  opened  one  another’s  tea-caddies  in  fun  ? Whether  they 
cut  slices  off  their  own  beef  and  mutton,  and  made  believe 
that  it  belonged  to  somebody  else  ? Whether  they  played 
little  dramas  of  life,  as  children  do,  and  said,  “ I ought  to 
come  and  look  at  your  apartments,  and  you  ought  to  ask  two 
guineas  a-week  too  much,  and  then  I ought  to  say  I must 
have  the  rest  of  the  day  to  think  of  it,  and  then  you  ought 
to  say  that  another  lady  and  gentleman  with  no  children  in 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON . 


293 


family  liad  made  an  offer  very  close  to  your  own  terms,  and 
you  had  passed  your  word  to  give  them  a positive  answer  in 
half-an-hour,  and  indeed  were  just  going  to  take  the  bill 
down  when  you  heard  the  knock,  and  then  I ought  to  take 
them  you  know  ? ” Twenty  such  speculations  engaged  my 
thoughts.  Then,  after  passing,  still  clinging  to  the  walls, 
defaced  rags  of  the  bills  of  last  year’s  Circus,  I came  to  a back 
field  near  a timber-yard  where  the  Circus  itself  had  been,  and 
where  there  was  yet  a sort  of  monkish  tonsure  on  the  grass, 
indicating  the  spot  where  the  young  lady  had  gone  round  upon 
her  pet  steed  Firefly  in  her  daring  flight.  Turning  into  the 
town  again,  I came  among  the  shops,  and  they  were  em- 
phatically out  of  the  season.  The  chemist  had  no  boxes  of 
ginger-beer  powders,  no  beautifying  sea-side  soaps  and  washes, 
no  attractive  scents  ; nothing  but  his  great  goggle-eyed  red 
bottles,  looking  as  if  the  winds  of  winter  and  the  drift  of  the 
salt-sea  had  inflamed  them.  The  grocers’  hot  pickles,  Har- 
vey’s Sauce,  Doctor  Kitchener’s  Zest,  Anchovy  Paste,  Dundee 
Marmalade,  and  the  whole  stock  of  luxurious  helps  to  appe- 
tite, were  hibernating  somewhere  under-ground.  The  china- 
shop  had  no  trifles  from  anywhere.  The  Bazaar  had  given  in 
altogether,  and  presented  a notice  on  the  shutters  that  this 
establishment  would  re-open  at  Whitsuntide,  and  that  the 
proprietor  in  the  meantime  might  be  heard  of  at  Wild  Lodge, 
East  Cliff.  At  the  Sea-bathing  Establishment,  a row  of  neat 
little  wooden  houses,  seven  or  eight  feet  high,  I satv  the  pro- 
prietor in  bed  in  the  shower-bath.  As  to  the  bathing-machines, 
they  were  (how  they  got  there,  is  not  for  me  to  say)  at  the 
top  of  a hill  at  least  a mile  and  a half  off.  The  library,  which 
I had  never  seen  otherwise  than  wide  open,  was  tight  shut ; 
and  two  peevish  bald  old  gentlemen  seemed  to  be  hermetically 
sealed  up  inside,  eternally  reading  the  paper.  That  wonder- 
ful mystery,  the  music-shop,  carried  it  off  as  usual  (except 
that  it  had  more  cabinet  pianos  in  stock),  as  if  season  or  no 
season  were  all  one  to  it.  It  made  the  same  prodigious  display 
of  bright  brazen  wind-instruments,  horribly  twisted,  worth,  as 
I should  conceive,  some  thousands  of  pounds,  and  which  it  is 
utterly  impossible  that  anybody  in  any  season  can  ever  play 
or  want  to  play.  It  had  five  triangles  in  the  window,  six 


294 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON. 


pairs  of  castanets,  and  three  harps ; likewise  every  polka  with 
a colored  frontispiece  that  ever  was  published ; from  the 
original  one  where  a smooth  male  and  female  Pole  of  high 
rank  are  coming  at  the  observer  with  their  arms  a-kimbo,  to 
the  Ratcatcher’s  Daughter.  Astonishing  establishment,  amaz- 
ing enigma!  Three  other  shops  were  pretty  muoh  out  of 
the  season,  what  they  were  used  to  be  in  it.  First,  the  shop 
where  they  sell  the  sailors’  watches,  which  had  still  the  old 
collection  of  enormous  timekeepers,  apparently  designed  to 
break  a fall  from  the  masthead : with  places  to  wind  them  up, 
like  fire-plugs.  Secondly,  the  shop  where  they  sell  the  sailors’ 
clothing,  which  displayed  the  old  sou’-westers,  and  the  old  oily 
suits,  and  the*old  pea-jackets,  and  the  old  one  sea-chest,  with  its 
handles  like  a pair  of  rope  earrings.  Thirdly,  the  unchange- 
able shop  for  the  sale  of  literature  that  has  been  left  behind. 
Here,  Dr.  Faustus  was  still  going  down  to  very  red  and  yellow 
perdition,  under  the  superintendence  of  three  green  personages 
of  a scaly  humor,  with  excrescential  serpents  growing  out  of 
their  blade-bones.  Here,  the  Golden  Dreamer  and  the  Nor- 
wood Fortune  Teller  were  still  on  sale  at  sixpence  each,  with 
instructions  for  making  the  dumb  cake,  and  reading  destinies 
in  tea-cups,  and  with  a picture  of  a young  woman  with  a high 
waist  lying  on  a sofa  in  an  attitude  so  uncomfortable  as 
almost  to  account  for  her  dreaming  at  one  and  the  same  time 
of  a conflagration,  a shipwreck,  an  earthquake,  a skeleton,  a 
church-porch,  lightning,  funerals  performed,  and  a young  man 
in  a bright  blue  coat  and  canary  pantaloons.  Here,  were 
Little  Warblers  and  Fairburn’s  Comic  Songsters.  Here,  too, 
were  ballads  on  the  old  ballad  paper  and  in  the  old  confusion 
of  types ; with  an  old  man  in  a cocked  hat,  and  an  arm-chair, 
for  the  illustration  to  Will  Watch  the  bold  Smuggler;  and  the 
Friar  of  Orders  Gray,  represented  by  a little  girl  in  a hoop, 
with  a ship  in  the  distance.  All  these  as  of  yore,  when  they 
were  infinite  delights  to  me  ! 

It  took  me  so  long  fully  to  relish  these  many  enjoyments, 
that  I had  not  more  than  an  hour  before  bedtime  to  devote  to 
Madame  Roland.  We  got  on  admirably  together  on  the  sub- 
ject of  her  convent  education,  and  I rose  next  morning  with 


OUT  OF  THE  SEASON. 


295 


the  full  conviction  that  the  day  for  the  great  chapter  was  at 
last  arrived. 

It  had  fallen  calm,  however,  in  the  night,  and  as  I sat  at 
breakfast  I blushed  to  remember  that  I had  not  yet  been  on 
the  Downs.  I a walker,  and  not  yet  on  the  Downs  ! Really, 
on  so  quiet  and  bright  a morning  this  must  be  set  right.  As 
an  essential  part  of  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man,  therefore,  I left 
the  chapter  to  itself  — for  the  present  — and  went  on  the 
Downs.  They  were  wonderfully  green  and  beautiful,  and  gave 
me  a good  deal  to  do.  When  I had  done  with  the  free  air  and 
the  view,  I had  to  go  down  into  the  valley  and  look  after  the 
hops  (which  I know  nothing  about),  and  to  be  equally  solici- 
tous as  to  the  cherry  orchards.  Then  I took  it  on  myself  to 
cross-examine  a tramping  family  in  black  (mother  alleged,  I 
have  no  doubt  by  herself  in  person,  to  have  died  last  week), 
and  to  accompany  eighteenpence  which  produced  a great  effect, 
with  moral  admonitions  which  produced  none  at  all.  Finally, 
it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  I got  back  to  the  unprece- 
dented chapter,  and  then  I determined  that  it  was  out  of  the 
season,  as  the  place  was,  and  put  it  away. 

I went  at  night  to  the  benefit  of  Mrs.  B.  Wedgington  at 
the  Theatre,  who  had  placarded  the  town  with  the  admonition, 
“ Don’t  forget  it  ! ” I made  the  house,  according  to  my 
calculation,  four  and  ninepence  to  begin  with,  and  it  may  have 
warmed  up,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  to  half  a sovereign. 
There  was  nothing  to  offend  any  one,  — the  good  Mr.  Baines 
of  Leeds  excepted.  Mrs.  B.  Wedgington  sang  to  a grand 
piano.  Mr.  B.  Wedgington  did  the  like,  and  also  took  off  his 
coat,  tucked  up  his  trousers,  and  danced  in  clogs.  Master  B. 
Wedgington,  aged  ten  months,  was  nursed  by  a shivering 
young  person  in  the  boxes,  and  the  eye  of  Mrs.  B.  Wedgington 
wandered  that  way  more  than  once.  Peace  be  with  all  the 
Wedgingtons  from  A.  to  Z.  May  they  find  themselves  in  the 
Season  somewhere ! 


A POOR  MAN’S  TALE  OF  A PATENT 


I am  not  used  to  writing  for  print.  What  working-man 
that  never  labors  less  (some  Mondays,  and  Christmas  Time 
and  Easter  Time  excepted)  than  twelve  or  fourteen  hour  a 
day,  is  ? But  I have  been  asked  to  put  down,  plain,  what  I 
have  got  to  say;  and  so  I take  pen-and-ink,  and  do  it  to  the 
best  of  my  power,  hoping  defects  will  find  excuse. 

I was  born  nigh  London,  but  have  worked  in  a shop  at 
Birmingham  (what  you  would  call  Manufactories,  we  call 
Shops),  almost  ever  since  I was  out  of  my  time.  I served  my 
apprenticeship  at  Deptford,  nigh  where  I was  born,  and  I 
am  a smith  by  trade.  My  name  is  John.  I have  been  called 
“Old  John”  ever  since  I was  nineteen  year  of  age,  on  account 
of  not  having  much  hair.  I am  fifty-six  year  of  age  at  the 
present  time,  and  I don’t  find  myself  with  more  hair,  nor  yet 
with  less,  to  signify,  than  at  nineteen  year  of  age  aforesaid. 

I have  been  married  five-and-thirty  year,  come  next  April. 
I was  married  on  All  Fools’  Day.  Let  them  laugh  that  win. 
I won  a good  wife  that  day,  and  it  was  as  sensible  a day  to 
me,  as  ever  I had. 

We  have  had  a matter  of  ten  children,  six  whereof  are 
living.  My  eldest  son  is  engineer  in  the  Italian  steam-packet 
“Mezzo  Griorno,  plying  between  Marseilles  and  Naples,  and 
calling  at  Genoa,  Leghorn,  and  Civita  Vecchia.”  He  was  a 
good  workman.  He  invented  a many  useful  little  things  that 
brought  him  in  — nothing.  I have  two  sons  doing  well  at 
Sydney,  New  South  Wales  — single,  when  last  heard  from. 
One  of  my  sons  (James)  went  wild  and  for  a soldier,  where 
he  was  shot  in  India,  living  six  weeks  in  hospital  with 
a musket-ball  lodged  in  his  shoulder-blade,  which  he  wrote 
with  his  own  hand.  He  was  the  best  looking.  One  of  my 
two  daughters  (Mary)  is  comfortable  in  her  circumstances, 
296 


A POOR  MAN  S TALE  OF  A PATENT. 


A POOP  MAN'S  TALE  OF  A PATENT. 


297 


but  water  on  the  chest.  The  other  (Charlotte) , her  husband 
run  away  from  her  in  the  basest  manner,  and  she  and  her 
three  children  live  with  us.  The  youngest,  six  year  old,  has 
a turn  for  mechanics. 

I am  not  a Chartist,  and  I never  was.  I don’t  mean  to  say 
but  what  I see  a good  many  public  points  to  complain  of,  still 
I don’t  think  that’s  the  way  to  set  them  right.  If  I did  think 
so,  I should  be  a Chartist.  But  I don’t  think  so,  and  I am 
not  a Chartist.  I read  the  paper,  and  hear  discussion,  at  what 
we  call  “a  parlor”  in  Birmingham,  and  I know  many  good 
men  and  workmen  who  are  Chartists.  Note.  Hot  Physical 
force. 

It  won’t  be  took  as  boastful  in  me,  if  I make  the  remark 
(for  I can’t  put  down  what  I have  got  to  say,  without  putting 
that  down  before  going  any  further),  that  I have  always  been 
of  an  ingenious  turn.  I once  got  twenty  pound  by  a screw,  and 
it’s  in  use  now.  I have  been  twenty  year,  off  and  on,  com- 
pleting an  Invention  and  perfecting  it.  I perfected  of  it,  last 
Christmas  Eve  at  ten  o’clock  at  night.  Me  and  my  wife  stood 
and  let  some  tears  fall  over  the  Model,  when  it  was  done  and 
I brought  her  in  to  take  a look  at  it. 

A friend  of  mine,  by  the  name  of  William  Butcher,  is  a 
Chartist.  Moderate.  He  is  a good  speaker.  He  is  very  ani- 
mated. I have  often  heard  him  deliver  that  what  is,  at  every 
turn,  in  the  way  of  us  working-men,  is,  that  too  many  places 
have  been  made,  in  the  course  of  time,  to  provide  for  people 
that  never  ought  to  have  been  provided  for  ; and  that  we  have 
to  obey  forms  and  to  pay  fees  to  support  those  places  when 
we  shouldn’t  ought.  "True,”  (delivers  William  Butcher), 
"all  the  public  has  to  do  this,  but  it  falls  heaviest  on  the 
working-man,  because  he  has  least  to  spare;  and  likewise 
because  impediments  shouldn’t  be  put  in  his  way,  when  he 
wants  redress  of  wrong,  or  furtherance  of  right.”  Hote.  I 
have  wrote  down  those  words  from  William  Butcher’s  own 
mouth.  W.  B.  delivering  them  fresh  for  the  aforesaid  pur- 
pose. 

How,  to  my  Model  again.  There  it  was,  perfected  of,  on 
Christmas  Eve,  gone  nigh  a year,  at  ten  o’clock  at  night.  All 
the  money  I could  spare  I had  laid  out  upon  the  Model ; and 


298 


A POOR  MAN'S  TALE  OF  A PATENT. 


when  times  was  bad,  or  my  daughter  Charlotte’s  children 
sickly,  or  both,  it  had  stood  still,  months  at  a spell.  I had 
pulled  it  to  pieces,  and  made  it  over  again  with  improvements, 
don’t  know  how  often.  There  it  stood,  at  last,  a perfected 
Model  as  aforesaid. 

William  Butcher  and  me  had  a long  talk,  Christmas  Bay, 
respecting  of  the  Model.  William  is  very  sensible.  But 
sometimes  cranky.  William  said,  “What  will  you  do  with  it, 
John  ? ” I said,  “Patent  it.”  William  said,  “How  Patent  it, 
John?”  I said,  “By  taking  out  a Patent.”  William  then 
delivered  that  the  law  of  Patent  was  a cruel  wrong.  William 
said,  “John,  if  you  make  your  invention  public,  before  you 
get  a Patent,  anyone  may  rob  you  of  the  fruits  of  your  hard 
work.  You  are  put  in  a cleft  stick,  John.  Either  you  must 
drive  a bargain  very  much  against  yourself,  by  getting  a party 
to  come  forward  beforehand  with  the  great  expenses  of  the 
Patent ; or,  you  must  be  put  about,  from  post  to  pillar,  among 
so  many  parties,  trying  to  make  a better  bargain  for  yourself, 
and  showing  your  invention,  that  your  invention  will  be  took 
from  you  over  your  head.”  I said,  “ William  Butcher,  are 
you  cranky  ? You  are  sometimes  cranky.”  William  said, 
“Ho,  John,  I tell  you  the  truth;”  which  he  then  delivered 
more  at  length.  I said  to  W.  B.  I would  Patent  the  invention 
myself. 

My  wife’s  brother,  George  Bury  of  West  Bromwich  (his 
wife  unfortunately  took  to  drinking,  made  away  with  every- 
thing, and  seventeen  times  committed  to  Birmingham  Jail 
before  happy  release  in  every  point  of  view),  left  my  wife, 
his-  sister,  when  he  died,  legacy  of  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  pound  ten,  Bank  of  England  Stocks.  Me  and  my  wife 
had  never  broke  into  that  money  yet.  VHote.  We  might  come 
to  be  old,  and  past  our  work.  We  now  agreed  to  Patent  the 
invention.  We  said  we  would  make  a hole  in  it  — I mean  in 
the  aforesaid  money  — and  Patent  the  invention.  William 
Butcher  wrote  me  a letter  to  Thomas  Joy,  in  London.  T.  J. 
is  a carpenter,  six  foot  four  in  height,  and  plays  quoits  well. 
He  lives  in  Chelsea,  London,  by  the  church.  I got  leave  from 
the  shop,  to  be  took  on  again  when  I come  back.  I am  a good 
workman.  Hot  a Teetotaller;  but  never  drunk.  When  the 


A POOR  MAN'S  TALE  OF  A PATENT. 


299 


Christmas  holidays  were  over,  I went  up  to  London  by  the 
Parliamentary  Train,  and  hired  a lodging  for  a week  with 
Thomas  Joy.  He  is  married.  He  has  one  son  gone  to  sea. 

Thomas  Joy  delivered  (from  a book  he  had)  that  the  first 
step  to  be  took,  in  Patenting  the  invention,  was  to  prepare  a 
petition  unto  Queen  Victoria.  William  Butcher  had  delivered 
similar,  and  drawn  it  up.  Note.  William  is  a ready  writer. 
A declaration  before  a Master  in  Chancery  was  to  be  added  to 
it.  That,  we  likewise  drew  up.  After  a deal  of  trouble  I 
found  out  a Master,  in  Southampton  Buildings,  Chancery  Lane, 
nigh  Temple  Bar,  where  I made  the  declaration,  and  paid 
eighteenpence.  I was  told  to  take  the  declaration  and  petition 
to  the  Home  Office,  in  Whitehall,  where  I left  it  to  be  signed 
by  the  Home  Secretary  (after  I had  found  the  office  out)  and 
where  I paid  two  pound,  two,  and  sixpence.  In  six  days  he 
signed  it,  and  I was  told  to  take  it  to  the  Attorney-General’ s 
chambers,  and  leave  it  there  for  a report.  I did  so,  and  paid 
four  pound,  four.  Note.  Nobody  all  through,  ever  thankful 
for  their  money,  but  all  uncivil. 

My  lodging  at  Thomas  Joy’s  was  now  hired  for  another 
week,  whereof  five  days  were  gone.  The  Attorney-General 
made  what  they  called  a Beport-of-course  (my  invention  being, 
as  William  Butcher  had  delivered  before  starting,  unopposed), 
and  I was  sent  back  with  it  to  the  Home  Office.  They  made 
a Copy  of  it,  which  was  called  a Warrant.  For  this  warrant, 
I paid  seven  pound,  thirteen,  and  six.  It  was  sent  to  the 
Queen,  to  sign.  The  Queen  sent  it  back,  signed.  The  Home 
Secretary  signed  it  again.  The  gentleman  throwed  it  at  me 
when  I called,  and  said,  “Now  take  it  to  the  Patent  Office  in 
Lincoln’s  Inn.”  I was  then  in  my  third  week  at  Thomas  Joy’s, 
living  very  sparing,  on  account  of  fees.  I found  myself  losing 
heart. 

At  the  Patent  Office  in  Lincoln’s  Inn,  they  made  “ a draft 
of  the  Queen’s  bill,”  of  my  invention,  and  a “ docket  of  the 
bill.”  I paid  five  pound,  ten,  and  six,  for  this.  They  “en- 
grossed two  copies  of  the  bill ; one  for  the  Signet  Office,  and 
one  for  the  Privy-Seal  Office.”  I paid  one  pound,  seven,  and 
six,  for  this.  Stamp  duty  over  and  above,  three  pound.  The 
Engrossing  Clerk  of  the  same  office  engrossed  the  Queen’s  bill 


300 


A POOR  MAN'S  TALE  OF  A PATENT. 


for  signature.  I paid  him  one  pound,  one.  Stamp  duty,  again, 
one  pound,  ten.  I was  next  to  take  the  Queen’s  bill  to  the 
Attorney-General  again,  and  get  it  signed  again.  I took  it, 
and  paid  five  pound  more.  I fetched  it  away,  and  took  it  to 
the  Home  Secretary  again.  He  sent  it  to  the  Queen  again. 
She  signed  it  again.  I paid  seven  pound,  thirteen,  and  six, 
more,  for  this.  I had  been  over  a month  at  Thomas  Joy’s.  I 
was  quite,  wore  out,  patience  and  pocket. 

Thomas  Joy  delivered  all  this,  as  it  went  on,  to  William 
Butcher.  William  Butcher  delivered  it  again  to  three  Bir- 
mingham Parlors,  from  which  it  got  to  all  the  other  Parlors, 
and  was  took,  as  I have  been  told  since,  right  through  all 
the  shops  in  the  North  of  England.  Note.  William  Butcher 
delivered,  at  his  Parlor,  in  a speech,  that  it  was  a Patent  way 
of  making  Chartists. 

But  I hadn’t  nigh  done  yet.  The  Queen’s  bill  was  to  be 
took  to  the  Signet  Office  in  Somerset  House,  Strand  — where 
the  stamp  shop  is.  The  Clerk  of  the  Signet  made  “ a Signet 
bill  for  the  Lord  Keeper  of  the  Privy  Seal.”  I paid  him  four 
pound,  seven.  The  Clerk  of  the  Lord  Keeper  of  the  Privy 
Seal  made  “a  Privy-Seal  bill  for  the  Lord  Chancellor.”  I paid 
him,  four  pound,  two.  The  Privy-Seal  bill  was  handed  over 
to  the  Clerk  of  the  Patents,  who  engrossed  the  aforesaid.  I 
paid  him  five  pound,  seventeen,  and  eight ; at  the  same  time, 
I paid  Stamp-duty  for  the  Patent,  in  one  lump,  thirty  pound. 
I next  paid  for  “ boxes  for  the  Patent,”  nine  and  sixpence. 
Note.  Thomas  Joy  would  have  made  the  same  at  a profit  for 
eighteenpence.  I next  paid  “ fees  to  the  Deputy,  the  Lord 
Chancellor’s  Purse-bearer,”  two  pound,  two.  I next  paid  “ fees 
to  the  Clerk  of  the  Hanaper,”  seven  pound,  thirteen.  I next 
paid  u fees  to  the  Deputy  Clerk  of  the  Hanaper,”  ten  shillings. 
I next  paid,  to  the  Lord  Chancellor  again,  one  pound,  eleven, 
and  six.  Last  of  all,  I paid  “ fees  to  the  Deputy  Sealer,  and 
Deputy  Chaff-wax,”  ten  shillings  and  sixpence.  I had  lodged 
at  Thomas  Joy’s  over  six  weeks,  and  the  unopposed  Patent 
for  my  invention,  for  England  only,  had  cost  me  ninety-six 
pound,  seven,  and  eightpence.  If  I had  taken  it  out  for  the 
United  Kingdom,  it  would  have  cost  me  more  than  three  hun- 
dred pound. 


A POOR  MAN'S  TALE  OF  A PATENT . 


301 


How,  teaching  had  not  come  up  but  very  limited  when  I 
was  young.  So  much  the  worse  for  me  you7ll  say.  I say 
the  same.  William  Butcher  is  twenty  year  younger  than  me. 
He  knows  a hundred  year  more.  If  William  Butcher  had 
wanted  to  Patent  an  invention,  he  might  have  been  sharper 
than  myself  when  hustled  backwards  and  forwards  among  all 
those  offices,  though  I doubt  if  so  patient.  Note.  William 
being  sometimes  cranky,  and  consider  porters,  messengers,  and 
clerks. 

Thereby  I say  nothing  of  my  being  tired  of  my  life,  while 
I was  Patenting  my  invention.  But  I put  this  : Is  it  reason- 
able to  make  a man  feel  as  if,  in  inventing  an  ingenious 
improvement  meant  to  do  good,  he  had  done  something 
wrong  ? How  else  can  a man  feel,  when  he  is  met  by  such 
difficulties  at  every  turn  ? All  inventors  taking  out  a Patent 
must  feel  so.  And  look  at  the  expense.  How  hard  on  me, 
and  how  hard  on  the  country  if  there’s  any  merit  in  me  (and 
my  invention  is  took  up  now,  I am  thankful  to  say,  and  doing 
well),  to  put  me  to  all  that  expense  before  I can  move  a 
finger ! Make  the  addition  yourself,  and  it’ll  come  to  ninety- 
six  pound,  seven,  and  eightpence.  Ho  more,  and  no  less. 

What  can  I say  against  William  Butcher,  about  places  ? 
Look  at  the  Home  Secretary,  the  Attorney-General,  the  Patent 
Office,  the  Engrossing  Clerk,  the  Lord  Chancellor,  the  Privy 
Seal,  the  Clerk  of  the  Patents,  the  Lord  Chancellor’s  Purse- 
bearer,  the  Clerk  of  the  Hanaper,  the  Deputy  Clerk  of  the 
Hanaper,  the  Deputy  Sealer,  and  the  Deputy  Chaff -wax.  Ho 
man  in  England  could  get  a Patent  for  an  India-rubber  band, 
or  an  iron  hoop,  without  feeing  all  of  them.  Some  of  them, 
over  and  over  again.  I went  through  thirty-five  stages.  I 
began  with  the  Queen  upon  the  Throne.  I ended  with  the 
Deputy  Chaff-wax.  Hote.  I should  like  to  see  the  Deputy 
Chaff-wax.  Is  it  a man,  or  what  is  it  ? 

What  I had  to  tell,  I have  told.  I have  wrote  it  down.  I 
hope  it’s  plain.  Hot  so  much  in  the  handwriting  (though 
nothing  to  boast  of  there),  as  in  the  sense  of  it.  I will  now 
conclude  with  Thomas  Joy.  Thomas  said  to  me,  when  we 
parted,  “John,  if  the  laws  of  this  country  were  as  honest  as 
they  ought  to  be,  you  would  have  come  to  London — registered 


302 


A POOR  MAN'S  TALE  OF  A PATENT. 


an  exact  description  and  drawing  of  your  invention — paid 
half-a-crown  or  so  for  doing  of  it — and  therein  and  thereby 
have  got  your  Patent.” 

My  opinion  is  the  same  as  Thomas  Joy.  Further.  In 
William  Butcher’s  delivering  “that  the  whole  gang  of  Han- 
apers  and  Chaff-waxes  must  be  done  away  with,  and  that 
England  has  been  chaffed  and  waxed  sufficient,”  I agree. 


THE  NOBLE  SAVAGE. 


To  come  to  the  point  at  once,  I beg  to  say  that  I have  not 
the  least  belief  in  the  Noble  Savage.  I consider  him  a prodig- 
ious nuisance,  and  an  enormous  superstition.  His  calling  rum 
fire-water,  and  me  a pale  face,  wholly  fail  to  reconcile  me  to 
him.  I don’t  care  what  he  calls  me.  I call  him  a savage,  and 
I call  a savage  a something  highly  desirable  to  be  civilized  off 
the  face  of  the  earth.  I think  a mere  gent  (which  I take  to 
be  the  lowest  form  of  civilization)  better  than  a howling,  whis- 
tling, clucking,  stamping,  jumping,  tearing  savage.  It  is  all 
one  to  me,  whether  he  sticks  a fish-bone  through  his  visage,  or 
bits  of  trees  through  the  lobes  of  his  ears,  or  birds’  feathers  in 
his  head ; whether  he  flattens  his  hair  between  two  boards,  or 
spreads  his  nose  over  the  breadth  of  his  face,  or  drags  his 
lower  lip  down  by  great  weights,  or  blackens  his  teeth,  or 
knocks  them  out,  or  paints  one  cheek  red  and  the  other  blue, 
or  tattoos  himself,  or  oils  himself,  or  rubs  his  body  with  fat, 
or  crimps  it  with  knives.  Yielding  to  whichsoever  of  these 
agreeable  eccentricities,  he  is  a savage — cruel,  false,  thievish, 
murderous ; addicted  more  or  less  to  grease,  entrails,  and 
beastly  customs;  a wild  animal  with  the  questionable  gift 
of  boasting;  a conceited,  tiresome,  bloodthirsty,  monotonous 
humbug. 

Yet  it  is  extraordinary  to  observe  how  some  people  will  talk 
about  him,  as  they  talk  about  the  good  old  times ; how  they 
will  regret  his  disappearance,  in  the  course  of  this  world’s 
development,  from  such  and  such  lands  where  his  absence  is  a 
blessed  relief  and  an  indispensable  preparation  for  the  sowing 
of  the  very  first  seeds  of  any  influence  that  can  exalt  humanity; 
how,  even  with  the  evidence  of  himself  before  them,  they  will 
either  be  determined  to  believe,  or  will  suffer  themselves  to  be 

303 


304 


THE  NOBLE  SAVAGE . 


persuaded  into  believing,  that  he  is  something  which  their  five 
senses  tell  them  he  is  not. 

There  was  Mr.  Catlin,  some  few  years  ago,  with  his  Ojibbe- 
way  Indians.  Mr.  Catlin  was  an  energetic  earnest  man,  who 
had  lived  among  more  tribes  of  Indians  than  I need  reckon  up 
here,  and  who  had  written  a picturesque  and  glowing  book 
about  them.  With  his  party  of  Indians  squatting  and  spitting 
on  the  table  before  him,  or  dancing  their  miserable  jigs  after 
their  own  dreary  manner,  he  called,  in  all  good  faith,  upon  his 
civilized  audience  to  take  notice  of  their  symmetry  and  grace, 
their  perfect  limbs,  and  the  exquisite  expression  of  their  pan- 
tomime ; and  his  civilized  audience,  in  all  good  faith,  complied 
and  admired.  Whereas,  as  mere  animals,  they  were  wretched 
creatures,  very  low  in  the  scale  and  very  poorly  formed ; and 
as  men  and  women  possessing  any  power  of  truthful  dramatic 
expression  by  means  of  action,  they  were  no  better  than  the 
chorus  at  an  Italian  Opera  in  England  — and  would  have  been 
worse  if  such  a thing  were  possible. 

Mine  are  no  new  views  of  the  noble  savage.  The  greatest 
writers  on  natural  history  found  him  out  long  ago.  Buffon 
knew  what  he  was,  and  showed  why  he  is  the  sulky  tyrant 
that  he  is  to  his  women,  and  how  it  happens  (Heaven  be 
praised ! ) that  his  race  is  spare  in  numbers.  Eor  evidence  of 
the  quality  of  his  moral  nature,  pass  himself  for  a moment 
and  refer  to  his  “ faithful  dog.”  Has  he  ever  improved  a dog, 
or  attached  a dog,  since  his  nobility  first  ran  wild  in  woods, 
and  was  brought  down  (at  a very  long  shot)  by  Pope  ? Or 
does  the  animal  that  is  the  friend  of  man,  always  degenerate 
in  his  low  society  ? 

It  is  not  the  miserable  nature  of  the  noble  savage  that  is  the 
new  thing ; it  is  the  whimpering  over  him  with  maudlin  ad- 
miration, and  the  affecting  to  regret  him,  and  the  drawing 
of  any  comparison  of  advantage  between  the  blemishes  of 
civilization  and  the  tenor  of  his  swinish  life.  There  may  have 
been  a change  now  and  then  in  those  diseased  absurdities,  but 
there  is  none  in  him. 

Think  of  the  Bushmen.  Think  of  the  two  men  and  the 
two  women  who  have  been  exhibited  about  England  for  some 
years.  Are  the  majority  of  persons  — who  remember  the 


THE  NOBLE  SAVAGE . 


305 


horrid  little  leader  of  that  party  in  his  festering  bundle  of 
hides,  with  his  filth  and  his  antipathy  to  water,  and  his 
straddled  legs,  and  his  odious  eyes  shaded  by  his  brutal  hand, 
and  his  cry  of  “ Qu-u-u-u-aaa ! ” (Bosjesman  for  something 
desperately  insulting  I have  no  doubt)  — conscious  of  an  affec- 
tionate yearning  towards  that  noble  savage,  or  is  it  idiosyncratic 
in  me  to  abhor,  detest,  abominate,  and  abjure  him  ? I have 
no  reserve  on  this  subject,  and  will  frankly  state  that,  setting 
aside  that  stage  of  the  entertainment  when  he  counterfeited 
the  death  of  some  creature  he  had  shot,  by  laying  his  head  on 
his  hand  and  shaking  his  left  leg  — at  which  time  I think  it 
would  have  been  justifiable  homicide  to  slay  him  — I have 
never  seen  that  group  sleeping,  smoking,  and  expectorating 
round  their  brazier,  but  I have  sincerely  desired  that  some- 
thing might  happen  to  the  charcoal  smouldering  therein,  which 
would  cause  the  immediate  suffocation  of  the  whole  of  the 
noble  strangers. 

There  is  at  present  a party  of  Zulu  Kaffirs  exhibiting  at 
the  St.  George’s  Gallery,  Hyde  Park  Corner,  London.  These 
noble  savages  are  represented  in  a most  agreeable  manner ; 
they  are  seen  in  an  elegant  theatre,  fitted  with  appropriate 
scenery  of  great  beauty,  and  they  are  described  in  a very 
sensible  and  unpretending  lecture,  delivered  with  a modesty 
which  is  quite  a pattern  to  all  similar  exponents.  Though 
extremely  ugly,  they  are  much  better  shaped  than  such  of 
their  predecessors  as  I have  referred  to ; and  they  are  rather 
picturesque  to  the  eye,  though  far  from  odoriferous  to  the  nose. 
What  a visitor  left  to  his  own  interpretings  and  imaginings 
might  suppose  these  noblemen  to  be  about,  when  they  give 
vent  to  that  pantomimic  expression  which  is  quite  settled  to 
be  the  natural  gift  of  the  noble  savage,  I cannot  possibly 
conceive;  for  it  is  so  much  too  luminous  for  my  personal 
civilization  that  it  conveys  no  idea  to  my  mind  beyond  a gen- 
eral stamping,  ramping,  and  raving,  remarkable  (as  everything 
in  savage  life  is)  for  its  dire  uniformity.  But  let  us  — with 
the  interpreter’s  assistance,  of  which  I for  one  stand  so  much 
in  need  — see  what  the  noble  savage  does  in  Zulu  Kaffirland. 

The  noble  savage  sets  a king  to  reign  over  him,  to  whom  he 
submits  his  life  and  limbs  without  a murmur  or  question,  and 
vol.  ii — 20 


306 


THE  NOBLE  SAVAGE . 


whose  whole  life  is  passed  chin  deep  in  a lake  of  blood ; but 
who,  after  killing  incessantly,  is  in  his  turn  killed  by  his 
relations  and  friends,  the  moment  a gray  hair  appears  on  his 
head.  All  the  noble  savage’s  wars  with  his  fellow-savages 
(and  he  takes  no  pleasure  in  anything  else)  are  wars  of  exter- 
mination— which  is  the  best  thing  I know  of  him,  and  the 
most  comfortable  to  my  mind  when  I look  at  him.  He  has 
no  moral  feelings  of  any  kind,  sort,  or  description ; and  his 
“ mission  ” may  be  summed  up  as  simply  diabolical. 

The  ceremonies  with  which  he  faintly  diversifies  his  life 
are,  of  course,  of  a kindred  nature.  If  he  wants  a wife  he 
appears  before  the  kennel  of  the  gentleman  whom  he  has 
selected  for  his  father-in-law,  attended  by  a party  of  male 
friends  of  a very  strong  flavor,  who  screech  and  whistle  and 
stamp  an  offer  of  so  many  cows  for  the  young  lady’s  hand. 
The  chosen  father-in-law  — also  supported  by  a high-flavored 
party  of  male  friends — screeches,  whistles,  and  yells  (being 
seated  on  the  ground,  he  can’t  stamp)  that  there  never  was 
such  a daughter  in  the  market  as  his  daughter,  and  that  he 
must  have  six  more  cows.  The  son-in-law  and  his  select  circle 
of  backers,  screech,  whistle,  stamp,  and  yell  in  reply,  that  they 
will  give  three  more  cows.  The  father-in-law  (an  old  deluder, 
overpaid  at  the  beginning)  accepts  four,  and  rises  to  bind  the 
bargain.  The  whole  party,  the  young  lady  included,  then 
falling  into  epileptic  convulsions,  and  screeching,  whistling, 
stamping,  and  yelling  together  — and  nobody  taking  any  notice 
of  the  young  lady  (whose  charms  are  not  to  be  thought  of 
without  a shudder)  — the  noble  savage  is  considered  married, 
and  his  friends  make  demoniacal  leaps  at  him  by  way  of  con- 
gratulation. 

When  the  noble  savage  finds  himself  a little  unwell,  and 
mentions  the  circumstance  to  his  friends,  it  is  immediately 
perceived  that  he  is  under  the  influence  of  witchcraft.  A 
learned  personage,  called  an  Imyanger  or  Witch  Doctor,  is 
immediately  sent  for  to  Hooker  the  Umtargartie,  or  smell  out 
the  witch.  The  male  inhabitants  of  the  kraal  being  seated 
on  the  ground,  the  learned  doctor,  got  up  like  a grizzly  bear, 
appears,  and  administers  a dance  of  a most  terrific  nature, 
during  the  exhibition  of  which  remedy  he  incessantly  gnashes 


THE  NOBLE  SAVAGE. 


307 


his  teeth,  and  howls : — “I  am  the  original  physician  to 
looker  the  Umtargartie.  Yow  yow  yow  ! No  connection 
with  any  other  establishment.  Till  till  till ! All  other 
Umtargarties  are  feigned  Umtargarties,  Boroo  Boroo!  but  I 
perceive  here  a genuine  and  real  Umtargartie,  Hoosh  Hoosh 
Hoosh ! in  whose  blood  I,  the  original  Imy anger  and  Nook- 
erer,  Blizzerum  Boo ! will  wash  these  bear’s  claws  of  mine. 
0 yow  yow  yow ! ” All  this  time  the  learned  physician  is 
looking  out  among  the  attentive  faces  for  some  unfortunate 
man  who  owes  him  a cow,  or  who  has  given  him  any  small 
offence,  or  against  whom,  without  offence,  he  has  conceived  a 
spite.  Him  he  never  fails  to  Nooker  as  the  Umtargartie,  and 
he  is  instantly  killed.  In  the  absence  of  such  an  individual, 
the  usual  practice  is  to  Nooker  the  quietest  and  most  gentle- 
manly person  in  company.  But  the  nookering  is  invariably 
followed  on  the  spot  by  the  butchering. 

Some  of  the  noble  savages  in  whom  Mr.  Catlin  was  so 
strongly  interested,  and  the  diminution  of  whose  numbers,  by 
rum  and  small-pox,  greatly  affected  him,  had  a custom  not 
unlike  this,  though  much  more  appalling  and  disgusting  in  its 
odious  details. 

The  women  being  at  work  in  the  fields,  hoeing  the  Indian 
corn,  and  the  noble  savage  being  asleep  in  the  shade,  the  chief 
has  sometimes  the  condescension  to  come  forth,  and  lighten 
the  labor  by  looking  at  it.  On  these  occasions,  he  seats  him- 
self in  his  own  savage  chair,  and  is  attended  by  his  shield- 
bearer  : who  holds  over  his  head  a shield  of  cowhide  — in 
shape  like  an  immense  mussel  shell  — fearfully  and  wonder- 
fully, after  the  manner  of  a theatrical  supernumerary.  But 
lest  the  great  man  should  forget  his  greatness  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  humble  works  of  agriculture,  there  suddenly 
rushes  in  a poet,  retained  for  the  purpose,  called  a Praiser. 
This  literary  gentleman  wears  a leopard’s  head  over  his  own, 
and  a dress  of  tigers’  tails ; he  has  the  appearance  of  having 
come  express  on  his  hind  legs  from  the  Zoological  Gardens ; 
and  he  incontinently  strikes  up  the  chief’s  praises,  plunging 
and  tearing  all  the  while.  There  is  a frantic  wickedness  in 
this  brute’s  manner  of  worrying  the  air,  and  gnashing  out,  “ Oh 
what  a delightful  chief  he  is ! 0 what  a delicious  quantity 


308 


THE  NOBLE  SAVAGE . 


of  blood  he  sheds ! 0 how  majestically  he  laps  it  up ! 0 

how  charmingly  cruel  he  is  ! 0 how  he  tears  the  flesh  of  his 

enemies  and  crunches  the  bones  ! 0 how  like  the  tiger  and 

the  leopard  and  the  wolf  and  the  bear  he  is  ! 0,  row  row  row 

row,  how  fond  I am  of  him  ! ” — which  might  tempt  the 
Society  of  Friends  to  charge  at  a hand-gallop  into  the  Swartz- 
Kop  location  and  exterminate  the  whole  kraal. 

When  war  is  afoot  among  the  noble  savages — which  is 
always — the  chief  holds  a council  to  ascertain  whether  it  is 
the  opinion  of  his  brothers  and  friends  in  general  that  the 
enemy  shall  be  exterminated.  On  this  occasion,  after  the 
performance  of  an  Umsebeuza,  or  war  song,  — which  is  exactly 
like  all  the  other  songs,  — the  chief  makes  a speech  to  his 
brothers  and  friends,  arranged  in  single  file.  No  particular 
order  is  observed  during  the  delivery  of  this  address,  but 
every  gentleman  who  finds  himself  excited  by  the  subject, 
instead  of  crying  “ Hear,  hear  ! ” as  is  the  custom  with  us, 
darts  from  the  rank  and  tramples  out  the  life,  or  crushes  the 
skull,  or  mashes  the  face,  or  scoops  out  the  eyes,  or  breaks 
the  limbs,  or  performs  a whirlwind  of  atrocities  on  the  body, 
of  an  imaginary  enemy.  Several  gentlemen  becoming  thus 
excited  at  once,  and  pounding  away  without  the  least  regard 
to  the  orator,  that  illustrious  person  is  rather  in  the  position 
of  an  orator  in  an  Irish  House  of  Commons.  But,  several  of 
these  scenes  of  savage  life  bear  a strong  generic  resemblance 
to  an  Irish  election,  and  I think  would  be  extremely  well 
received  and  understood  at  Cork. 

In  all  these  ceremonies  the  noble  savage  holds  forth  to  the 
utmost  possible  extent  about  himself;  from  which  (to  turn 
him  to  some  civilized  account)  we  may  learn,  I think,  that  as 
egotism  is  one  of  the  most  offensive  and  contemptible  little- 
nesses a civilized  man  can  exhibit,  so  it  is  really  incompatible 
with  the  interchange  of  ideas  ; inasmuch  as  if  we  all  talked 
about  ourselves  we  should  soon  have  no  listeners,  and  must 
be  all  yelling  and  screeching  at  once  on  our  own  separate 
accounts  : making  society  hideous.  It  is  my  opinion  that  if 
we  retained  in  us  anything  of  the  noble  savage,  we  could  not 
get  rid  of  it  too  soon.  But  the  fact  is  clearly  otherwise. 
Upon  the  wife  and  dowry  question,  substituting  coin  for  cows, 


THE  NOBLE  SAVAGE . 


309 


we  have  assuredly  nothing  of  the  Zulu  Kaffir  left.  The  en- 
durance of  despotism  is  one  great  distinguishing  mark  of  a 
savage  always.  The  improving  world  has  quite  got  the 
better  of  that  too.  In  like  manner,  Paris  is  a civilized  city, 
and  the  Theatre  Frangais  a highly  civilized  theatre ; and  we 
shall  never  hear,  and  never  have  heard  in  these  later  days 
(of  course)  of  the  Praiser  there.  No,  no,  civilized  poets  have 
better  work  to  do.  As  to  Nookering  Umtargarties,  there  are 
no  pretended  Umtargarties  in  Europe,  and  no  European 
powers  to  Nooker  them  ; that  would  be  mere  spydom,  sub- 
ornation, small  malice,  superstition,  and  false  pretence.  And 
as  to  private  Umtargarties,  are  we  not  in  the  year  eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty-three,  with  spirits  rapping  at  our  doors  ? 

To  conclude  as  I began.  My  position  is,  that  if  we  have 
anything  to  learn  from  the  Noble  Savage,  it  is  what  to  avoid. 
His  virtues  are  a fable ; his  happiness  is  a delusion ; his 
nobility,  nonsense.  We  have  no  greater  justification  for 
being  cruel  to  the  miserable  object,  than  for  being  cruel  to 
a William  Shakspeare  or  an  Isaac  Newton  ; but  he 
passes  away  before  an  immeasurably  better  and  higher  power 
than  ever  ran  wild  in  any  earthly  woods,  and  the  world  will 
be  all  the  better  when  his  place  knows  him  no  more. 


A FLIGHT. 


x>* 

When  Don  Diego  de  — I forget  his  name  — the  inventor  of 
the  last  new  Flying  Machines,  price  so  many  francs  for  ladies, 
so  many  more  for  gentlemen  — when  Don  Diego,  by  permission 
of  Deputy  Chaff-wax  and  his  noble  band,  shall  have  taken  out 
a Patent  for  the  Queen’s  dominions,  and  shall  have  opened  a 
commodious  Warehouse  in  an  airy  situation;  and  when  all 
persons  of  any  gentility  will  keep  at  least  a pair  of  wings,  and 
be  seen  skimming  about  in  every  direction;  I shall  take  a 
flight  to  Paris  (as  I soar  round  the  world)  in  a cheap  and 
independent  manner.  At  present,  my  reliance  is  on  the  South 
Eastern  Kailway  Company,  in  whose  Express  Train  here  I sit, 
at  eight  of  the  clock  on  a very  hot  morning,  under  the  very 
hot  roof  of  the  Terminus  at  London  Bridge,  in  danger  of  being 
“ forced 99  like  a cucumber,  or  a melon,  or  a pine-apple  — And 
talking  of  pine-apples,  I suppose  there  never  were  so  many 
pine-apples  in  a Train  as  there  appear  to  be  in  this  Train. 

Whew  ! The  hot-house  air  is  faint  with  pine-apples.  Every 
French  citizen  or  citizeness  is  carrying  pine-apples  home.  The 
compact  little  Enchantress  in  the  corner  of  my  carriage  (French 
actress,  to  whom  I yielded  up  my  heart  under  the  auspices  of 
that  brave  child,  “ Meat-chell,”  at  the  St.  James’s  Theatre 
the  night  before  last)  has  a pine-apple  in  her  lap.  Compact 
Enchantress’s  friend,  confidante,  mother,  mystery,  Heaven 
knows  what,  has  two  pine-apples  in  her  lap,  and  a bundle  of 
them  under  the  seat.  Tobacco-smoky  Frenchman  in  Algerine 
wrapper,  with  peaked  hood  behind,  who  might  be  Abd-el-Kader 
dyed  rifle-green,  and  who  seems  to  be  dressed  entirely  in  dirt 
and  braid,  carries  pine-apples  in  a covered  basket.  Tall,  grave, 
melancholy  Frenchman,  with  black  Vandyke  beard,  and  hair 
close-cropped,  with  expansive  chest  to  waistcoat,  and  compres- 
sive waist  to  coat : saturnine  as  to  his  pantaloons,  calm  as  to 

310 


A FLIGHT . 


311 


his  feminine  boots,  precious  as  to  his  jewelry,  smooth  and 
white  as  to  his  linen  : dark-eyed,  high-foreheaded,  hawk-nosed 

— got  up,  one  thinks,  like  Lucifer  or  Mephistopheles,  or 
Zamiel,  transformed  into  a highly  genteel  Parisian  — has  the 
green  end  of  a pine-apple  sticking  out  of  his  neat  valise. 

Whew  ! If  I were  to  be  kept  here  long,  under  this  forcing- 
frame,  I wonder  what  would  become  of  me  — whether  I should 
be  forced  into  a giant,  or  should  sprout  or  blow  into  some 
other  phenomenon!  Compact  Enchantress  is  not  ruffled  by 
the  heat  — she  is  always  composed,  always  compact.  0 look 
at  her  little  ribbons,  frills,  and  edges,  at  her  shawl,  at  her 
gloves,  at  her  hair,  at  her  bracelets,  at  her  bonnet,  at  every- 
thing about  her  ! How  is  it  accomplished  ? What  does  she 
do  to  be  so  neat  ? How  is  it  that  every  trifle  she  wears  be- 
longs to  her,  and  cannot  choose  but  be  a part  of  her  ? And 
even  Mystery,  look  at  her ! A model.  Mystery  is  not  young, 
not  pretty,  though  still  of  an  average  candle-light  passability ; 
but  she  does  such  miracles  in  her  own  behalf,  that,  one  of 
these  days,  when  she  dies,  they’ll  be  amazed  to  find  an  old 
woman  in  her  bed,  distantly  like  her.  She  was  an  actress 
once,  I shouldn’t  wonder,  and  had  a Mystery  attendant  on 
herself.  Perhaps,  Compact  Enchantress  will  live  to  be  a 
Mystery,  and  to  wait  with  a shawl  at  the  side-scenes,  and  to 
sit  opposite  to  Mademoiselle  in  railway  carriages,  and  smile 
and  talk  subserviently,  as  Mystery  does  now.  That’s  hard  to 
believe  ! 

Two  Englishmen,  and  now  our  carriage  is  full.  First  Eng- 
lishman, in  the  monied  interest  — flushed,  highly  respectable 

— Stock  Exchange,  perhaps  — City,  certainly.  Faculties  of 
second  Englishman  entirely  absorbed  in  hurry.  Plunges  into 
the  carriage,  blind.  Calls  out  of  window  concerning  his  lug- 
gage, deaf.  Suffocates  himself  under  pillows  of  great  coats, 
for  no  reason,  and  in  a demented  manner.  Will  receive  no 
assurance  from  any  porter  whatsoever.  Is  stout  and  hot,  and 
wipes  his  head,  and  makes  himself  hotter  by  breathing  so  hard. 
Is  totally  incredulous  respecting  assurance  of  Collected  Guard 
that  “ there’s  no  hurry.”  Ho  hurry  ! And  a flight  to  Paris  in 
eleven  hours  ! 

It  is  all  one  to  me  in  this  drowsy  corner,  hurry  or  no 


312 


A FLIGHT. 


hurry.  Until  Don  Diego  shall  send  home  my  wings,  my 
flight  is  with  the  South  Eastern  Company.  I can  fly  with 
the  South  Eastern,  more  lazily,  at  all  events,  than  in  the 
upper  air.  I have  but  to  sit  here  thinking  as  idly  as  I please, 
and  be  whisked  away.  I am  not  accountable  to  anybody  for 
the  idleness  of  my  thoughts  in  such  an  idle  summer  flight ; 
my  flight  is  provided  for  by  the  South  Eastern  and  is  no 
business  of  mine. 

The  bell ! With  all  my  heart.  It  does  not  require  me  to 
do  so  much  as  even  to  flap  my  wings.  Something  snorts  for 
me,  something  shrieks  for  me,  something  proclaims  to  every- 
thing else  that  it  had  better  keep  out  of  my  way,  — and  away 
I go. 

Ah ! The  fresh  air  is  pleasant  after  the  forcing-frame, 
though  it  does  blow  over  these  interminable  streets,  and 
scatter  the  smoke  of  this  vast  wilderness  of  chimneys.  Here 
we  are  — no,  I mean  there  we  were,  for  it  has  darted  far  into 
the  rear  — in  Bermondsey  where  the  tanners  live.  Elash ! 
The  distant  shipping  in  the  Thames  is  gone.  Whirr ! The 
little  streets  of  new  brick  and  red  tile,  with  here  and  there  a 
flagstaff  growing  like  a tall  weed  out  of  the  scarlet  beans,  and, 
everywhere,  plenty  of  open  sewer  and  ditch  for  the  promotion 
of  the  public  health,  have  been  fired  off  in  a volley.  Whizz  ! 
Dustheaps,  market-gardens,  and  waste  grounds.  Battle  ! New 
Cross  Station.  Shock  ! There  we  were  at  Croydon.  Bur-r-r-r  ! 
The  tunnel. 

I wonder  why  it  is  that  when  I shut  my  eyes  in  a tunnel  I 
begin  to  feel  as  if  I were  going  at  an  Express  pace  the  other 
way.  I am  clearly  going  back  to  London  now.  Compact 
Enchantress  must  have  forgotten  something,  and  reversed  the 
engine.  No  ! After  long  darkness,  pale  fitful  streaks  of  light 
appear.  I am  still  flying  on  for  Folkestone.  The  streaks 
grow  stronger  — become  continuous  — become  the  ghost  of 
day  — become  the  living  day  — became  I mean  — the  tunnel 
is  miles  and  miles  away,  and  here  I fly  through  sunlight,  all 
among  the  harvest  and  the  Kentish  hops. 

There  is  a dreamy  pleasure  in  this  flying.  I wonder  where 
it  was,  and  when  it  was,  that  we  exploded,  blew  into  space 
somehow,  a Parliamentary  Train,  with  a crowd  of  heads  and 


A FLIGHT . 


313 


faces  looking  at  us  out  of  cages,  and  some  hats  waving. 
Monied  Interest  says  it  was  at  Reigate  Station.  Expounds 
to  Mystery  liow  Reigate  Station  is  so  many  miles  from 
London,  which  Mystery  again  develops  to  Compact  Enchant- 
ress. There  might  be  neither  a Reigate  nor  a London  for 
me,  as  I fly  away  among  the  Kentish  hops  and  harvest.  What 
do  I care ! 

Bang ! We  have  let  another  Station  off,  and  fly  away 
regardless.  Everything  is  flying.  The  hop-gardens  turn 
gracefully  towards  me,  presenting  regular  avenues  of  hops  in 
rapid  flight,  then  whirl  away.  So  do  the  pools  and  rushes, 
haystacks,  sheep,  clover  in  full  bloom  delicious  to  the  sight 
and  smell,  corn-sheaves,  cherry-orchards,  apple-orchards,  reap- 
ers, gleaners,  hedges,  gates,  fields  that  taper  off  into  little 
angular  corners,  cottages,  gardens,  now  and  then  a church. 
Bang,  bang ! A double-barrelled  Station ! Now  a wood,  now 
a bridge,  now  a landscape,  now  a cutting,  now  a — Bang  ! a 
single-barrelled  Station  — there  was  a cricket  match  some- 
where with  two  white  tents,  and  then  four  flying  cows,  then 
turnips  — now  the  wires  of  the  electric  telegraph  are  all  alive, 
and  spin,  and  blurr  their  edges,  and  go  up  and  down,  and 
make  the  intervals  between  each  other  most  irregular : con- 
tracting and  expanding  in  the  strangest  manner.  Now  we 
slacken.  With  a screwing,  and  a grinding,  and  a smell  of 
water  thrown  on  ashes,  now  we  stop  ! 

Demented  traveller,  who  has  been  for  two  or  three  minutes 
watchful,  clutches  his  great  coats,  plunges  at  the  door,  rattles 
it,  cries  “ Hi ! ” eager  to  embark  on  board  of  impossible 
packets,  far  inland.  Collected  Guard  appears.  “ Are  you  for 
Tunbridge,  sir?”  “ Tunbridge?  No.  Paris.”  “ Plenty  of 
time,  sir.  No  hurry.  Five  minutes  here,  sir,  for  refresh- 
ment.” I am  so  blest  (anticipating  Zamiel,  by  half  a second) 
as  to  procure  a glass  of  water  for  Compact  Enchantress. 

Who  would  suppose  we  had  been  flying  at  such  a rate,  and 
shall  take  wing  again  directly  ? Refreshment-room  full,  plat- 
form full,  porter  with  watering-pot  deliberately  cooling  a hot 
wheel,  another  porter  with  equal  deliberation  helping  the  rest 
of  the  wheels  bountifully  to  ice  cream.  Monied  Interest  and 
I re-entering  the  carriage  first,  and  being  there  alone,  he  inti- 


814 


A FLIGHT. 


mates  to  me  that  the  French  are  “no  go  ” as  a Nation.  I 
ask  why  ? He  says,  that  Reign  of  Terror  of  theirs  was  quite 
enough.  I ventured  to  inquire  whether  he  remembers  any- 
thing that  preceded  said  Reign  of  Terror?  He  says  not 
particularly.  “Because,”  I remark,  “the  harvest  that  is 
reaped,  has  sometimes  been  sown.”  Monied  Interest  repeats, 
as  quite  enough  for  him,  that  the  French  are  revolutionary, 
“ — and  always  at  it.” 

Bell.  Compact  Enchantress,  helped  in  by  Zamiel,  (whom 
the  stars  confound !)  gives  us  her  charming  little  side-box  look, 
and  smites  me  to  the  core.  Mystery  eating  sponge-cake.  Pine- 
apple atmosphere  faintly  tinged  with  suspicions  of  sherry. 
Demented  Traveller  flits  past  the  carriage,  looking  for  it.  Is 
blind  with  agitation,  and  can’t  see  it.  Seems  singled  out  by 
Destiny  to  be  the  only  unhappy  creature  in  the  flight,  who 
has  any  cause  to  hurry  himself.  Is  nearly  left  behind.  Is 
seized  by  Collected  Guard  after  the  Train  is  in  motion,  and 
bundled  in.  Still,  has  lingering  suspicions  that  there  must  be 
a boat  in  the  neighborhood,  and  will  look  wildly  out  of  window 
for  it. 

Flight  resumed.  Corn-sheaves,  hop-gardens,  reapers,  gleam 
ers,  apple-orchards,  cherry-orchards,  Stations  single  and  double- 
barrelled,  Ashford.  Compact  Enchantress  (constantly  talking 
to  Mystery,  in  an  exquisite  manner)  gives  a little  scream; 
a sound  that  seems  to  come  from  high  up  in  her  precious 
little  head ; from  behind  her  bright  little  eyebrows.  “ Great 
Heaven,  my  pine-apple ! My  Angel ! It  is  lost ! ” Mystery 
is  desolated.  A search  made.  It  is  not  lost.  Zamiel  finds  it. 
I curse  him  (flying)  in  the  Persian  manner.  May  his  face  be 
turned  upside  down,  and  jackasses  sit  upon  his  uncle’s  grave ! 

Now  fresher  air,  now  glimpses  of  unenclosed  Down-land 
with  flapping  crows  flying  over  it  whom  we  soon  outfly,  now 
the  Sea,  now  Folkestone  at  a quarter  after  ten.  “ Tickets 
ready,  gentlemen!”  Demented  dashes  at  the  door.  “For 
Paris,  Sir  ? No  hurry.” 

Not  the  least.  We  are  dropped  slowly  down  to  the  Port, 
and  sidle  to  and  fro  (the  whole  Train)  before  the  insensible 
Royal  George  Hotel,  for  some  ten  minutes.  The  Royal  George 
takes  no  more  heed  of  us  than  its  namesake  under  water  at 


A FLIGHT . 


315 


Spithead,  or  under  earth  at  Windsor,  does.  The  Royal 
George’s  dog  lies  winking  and  blinking  at  us,  without  taking 
the  trouble  to  sit  up ; and  the  Royal  George’s  “ wedding 
party”  at  the  open  window  (who  seem,  I must  say,  rather 
tired  of  bliss)  don’t  bestow  a solitary  glance  upon  us,  flying 
thus  to  Paris  in  eleven  hours.  The  first  gentleman  in  Folke- 
stone is  evidently  used  up,  on  this  subject. 

Meanwhile,  Demented  chafes.  Conceives  that  every  man’s 
hand  is  against  him,  and  exerting  itself  to  prevent  his  getting 
to  Paris.  Refuses  consolation.  Rattles  door.  Sees  smoke  on 
the  horizon,  and  “ knows  ” it’s  the  boat  gone  without  him. 
Monied  Interest  resentfully  explains  that  he  is  going  to  Paris 
too.  Demented  signifies  that  if  Monied  Interest  chooses  to  be 
left  behind,  he  don’t. 

“ Refreshments  in  the  Waiting-Room,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
No  hurry,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  for  Paris.  No  hurry  what- 
ever ! ” 

Twenty  minutes’  pause,  by  Folkestone  clock,  for  looking  at 
Enchantress  while  she  eats  a sandwich,  and  at  Mystery  while 
she  eats  of  everything  there  that  is  eatable,  from  pork-pie, 
sausage,  jam,  and  gooseberries,  to  lumps  of  sugar.  All  this 
time,  there  is  a very  waterfall  of  luggage,  with  a spray  of 
dust,  tumbling  slantwise  from  the  pier  into  the  steamboat. 
All  this  time,  Demented  (who  has  no  business  with  it)  watches 
it  with  starting  eyes,  fiercely  requiring  to  be  shown  his  lug- 
gage. When  it  at  last  concludes  the  cataract,  he  rushes  hotly 
to  refresh  — is  shouted  after,  pursued,  jostled,  brought  back, 
pitched  into  the  departing  steamer  upside  down,  and  caught 
by  mariners  disgracefully. 

A lovely  harvest  day,  a cloudless  sky,  a tranquil  sea.  The 
piston-rods  of  the  engines  so  regularly  coming  up  from  below, 
to  look  (as  well  they  may)  at  the  bright  weather,  and  so 
regularly  almost  knocking  their  iron  heads  against  the  cross 
beam  of  the  skylight,  and  never  doing  it ! Another  Parisian 
actress  is  on  board,  attended  by  another  Mystery.  Compact 
Enchantress  greets  her  sister  artist  — Oh,  the  Compact  One’s 
pretty  teeth ! — and  Mystery  greets  Mystery.  My  Mystery 
soon  ceases  to  be  conversational  — is  taken  poorly,  in  a word, 
having  lunched  too  miscellaneously  — and  goes  below.  The  re- 


316 


A FLIGHT . 


maining  Mystery  then  smiles  upon  the  sister  artists  (who,  I 
am  afraid,  wouldn’t  greatly  mind  stabbing  each  other),  and  is 
upon  the  whole  ravished. 

And  now  I find  that  all  the  French,  people  on  board  begin 
to  grow,  and  all  the  English  people  to  shrink.  The  French 
are  nearing  home,  and  shaking  off  a disadvantage,  whereas 
we  are  shaking  it  on.  Zamiel  is  the  same  man,  and  Abd-el- 
Kader  is  the  same  man,  but  each  seems  to  come  into  possession 
of  an  indescribable  confidence  that  departs  from  us  — from 
Monied  Interest,  for  instance,  and  from  me.  Just  what  they 
gain,  we  lose.  Certain  British  “ Gents  ” about  the  steersman, 
intellectually  nurtured  at  home  on  parody  of  everything  and 
truth  of  nothing,  become  subdued  and  in  a manner  forlorn ; 
and  when  the  steersman  tells  them  (not  unexultingly)  how  he 
has  “ been  upon  this  station  now  eight  year,  and  never  see  the 
old  town  of  Bullum  yet,”  one  of  them,  with  an  imbecile 
reliance  on  a reed,  asks  him  what  he  considers  to  be  the  best 
hotel  in  Paris  ? 

Now,  I tread  upon  French  ground,  and  am  greeted  by  the 
three  charming  words,  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity,  painted 
up  (in  letters  a little  too  thin  for  their  height)  on  the  Custom- 
House  wall  — also  by  the  sight  of  large  cocked  hats,  without 
which  demonstrative  head-gear  nothing  of  a public  nature 
can  be  done  upon  this  soil.  All  the  rabid  Hotel  population 
of  Boulogne  howl  and  shriek  outside  a distant  barrier,  frantic 
to  get  at  us.  Demented,  by  some  unlucky  means  peculiar  to 
himself,  is  delivered  over  to  their  fury,  and  is  presently  seen 
struggling  in  a whirpool  of  Touters  — is  somehow  understood 
to  be  going  to  Paris  — is,  with  infinite  noise,  rescued  by  two 
cocked  hats,  and  brought  into  Custom-House  bondage  with  the 
rest  of  us. 

Here,  I resign  the  active  duties  of  life  to  an  eager  being, 
of  preternatural  sharpness,  with  a shelving  forehead  and  a 
shabby  snuff-colored  coat,  who  (from  the  wharf)  brought  me 
down  with  his  eye  before  the  boat  came  into  port.  He  darts 
upon  my  luggage,  on  the  floor  where  all  the  luggage  is  strewn 
like  a wreck  at  the  bottom  of  the  great  deep ; gets  it  pro- 
claimed and  weighed  as  the  property  of  “ Monsieur  a traveller 
unknown ; ” pays  certain  francs  for  it,  to  a certain  functionary 


A FLIGHT . 


317 


behind  a Pigeon  Hole,  like  a pay-box  at  a Theatre  (the 
arrangements  in  general  are  on  a wholesale  scale,  half  mili- 
tary and  half  theatrical)  ; and  I suppose  I shall  find  it  when 
I come  to  Paris  — he  says  I shall.  I know  nothing  about  it, 
except  that  I pay  him  his  small  fee,  and  pocket  the  ticket  he 
gives  ine,  and  sit  upon  a counter,  involved  in  the  general 
distraction. 

Railway  station.  “ Lunch  or  dinner,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Plenty  of  time  for  Paris.  Plenty  of  time!”  Large  Hall, 
long  counter,  long  strips  of  dining-table,  bottles  of  wine,  plates 
of  meat,  roast  chickens,  little  loaves  of  bread,  basins  of  soup, 
little  caraffes  of  brandy,  cakes,  and  fruit.  Comfortably  re- 
stored from  these  resources,  I begin  to  fly  again. 

I saw  Zamiel  (before  I took  wing)  presented  to  Compact 
Enchantress  and  Sister  Artist,  by  an  officer  in  uniform,  with  a 
waist  like  a wasp’s,  and  pantaloons  like  two  balloons.  They 
all  got  into  the  next  carriage  together,  accompanied  by  the 
two  Mysteries.  They  laughed.  I am  alone  in  the  carriage 
(for  I don’t  consider  Demented  anybody)  and  alone  in  the 
world. 

Fields,  windmills,  low  grounds,  pollard-trees,  windmills, 
fields,  fortifications,  Abbeville,  soldiering  and  drumming.  I 
wonder  where  England  is,  and  when  I was  there  last  — about 
two  years  ago,  I should  say.  Flying  in  and  out  among  these 
trenches  and  batteries,  skimming  the  clattering  drawbridges, 
looking  down  into  the  stagnant  ditches,  I became  a prisoner  of 
state,  escaping.  I am  confined  with  a comrade  in  a fortress. 
Our  room  is  in  an  upper  story.  We  have  tried  to  get  up  the 
chimney,  but  there’s  an  iron  grating  across  it,  imbedded  in 
the  masonry.  After  months  of  labor,  we  have  worked  the 
grating  loose  with  the  poker,  and  can  lift  it  up.  We  have 
also  made  a hook,  and  twisted  our  rugs  and  blankets  into 
ropes.  Our  plan  is,  to  go  up  the  chimney,  hook  our  ropes  to 
the  top,  descend  hand  over  hand  upon  the  roof  of  the  guard- 
house far  below,  shake  the  hook  loose,  watch  the  opportunity 
of  the  sentinel’s  pacing  away,  hook  again,  drop  into  the  ditch, 
swim  across  it,  creep  into  the  shelter  of  the  wood.  The  time 
is  come  — a wild  and  stormy  night.  We  are  up  the  chimney, 
we  are  on  the  guard-house  roof,  we  are  swimming  in  the 


318 


A FLIGHT . 


murky  ditch,  when  lo ! “ Qui  v’la  ? ” a bugle,  the  alarm,  a 
crash!  What  is  it?  Death?  No,  Amiens. 

More  fortifications,  more  soldiering  and  drumming,  more 
basins  of  soup,  more  little  loaves  of  bread,  more  bottles  of 
wine,  more  caraffes  of  brandy,  more  time  for  refreshment. 
Everything  good,  and  everything  ready.  Bright,,  unsubstan- 
tial-looking, scenic  sort  of  station.  People  waiting.  Houses, 
uniforms,  beards,  moustaches,  some  sabots,  plenty  of  neat 
women,  and  a few  old-visaged  children.  Unless  it  be  a delu- 
sion born  of  my  giddy  flight,  the  grown-up  people  and  the 
children  seem  to  change  places  in  France.  In  general,  the 
boys  and  girls  are  little  old  men  and  women,  and  the  men  and 
women  lively  boys  and  girls. 

Bugle,  shriek,  flight  resumed.  Monied  Interest  has  come 
into  my  carriage.  Says  the  manner  of  refreshing  is  “not 
bad,”  but  considers  it  French.  Admits  great  dexterity  and 
politeness  in  the  attendants.  Thinks  a decimal  currency  may 
have  something  to  do  with  their  despatch  in  settling  accounts, 
and  don’t  know  but  what  it’s  sensible  and  convenient.  Adds, 
however,  as  a general  protest,  that  they’re  a revolutionary 
people  — and  always  at  it. 

Ramparts,  canals,  cathedral,  river,  soldiering  and  drumming, 
open  country,  river,  earthenware  manufactures,  Creil.  Again 
ten  minutes.  Not  even  Demented  in  a hurry.  Station,  a draw- 
ing-room with  a verandah : like  a planter’s  house.  Monied 
Interest  considers  it  a band-box,  and  not  made  to  last.  Little 
round  tables  in  it,  at  one  of  which  the  Sister  Artists  and  at- 
tendant Mysteries  are  established  with  Wasp  and  Zamiel,  as 
if  they  were  going  to  stay  a week. 

Anon,  with  no  more  trouble  than  before,  I am  flying  again, 
and  lazily  wondering  as  I fly.  What  has  the  South  Eastern 
done  with  all  the  horrible  little  villages  we  used  to  pass 
through,  in  the  Diligence  ? What  have  they  done  with  all 
the  summer  dust,  with  all  the  winter  mud,  with  all  the  dreary 
avenues  of  little  trees,  with  all  the  ramshackle  postyards, 
with  all  the  beggars  (who  used  to  turn  out  at  night  with  bits 
of  lighted  candle,  to  look  in  at  the  coach  windows),  with  all 
the  long-tailed  horses  who  were  always  biting  one  another, 
with  all  the  big  postilions  in  jack-boots  — with  all  the  mouldy 


A FLIGHT. 


319 


cafes  that  we  used  to  stop  at,  where  a long  mildewed  table- 
cloth, set  forth  with  jovial  bottles  of  vinegar  and  oil,  and 
with  a Siamese  arrangement  of  pepper  and  salt,  was  never 
wanting  ? Where  are  the  grass-grown  little  towns,  the  won- 
derful little  market-places  all  unconscious  of  markets,  the 
shops  that  nobody  kept,  the  streets  that  nobody  trod,  the 
churches  that  nobody  went  to,  the  bells  that  nobody  rang, 
the  tumble-down  old  buildings  plastered  with  many-colored 
bills  that  nobody  read  ? Where  are  the  two-and-twenty 
weary  hours  of  long  long  day  and  night  journey,  sure  to  be 
either  insupportably  hot  or  insupportably  cold  ? Where  are 
the  pains  in  my  bones,  where  are  the  fidgets  in  my  legs,  where 
is  the  Frenchman  with  the  nightcap  who  never  would  have  the 
little  coupAwindow  down,  and  who  always  fell  upon  me  when 
he  went  to  sleep,  and  always  slept  all  night  snoring  onions  ? 

A voice  breaks  in  with  u Paris  ! Here  we  are  ! ” 

I have  overflown  myself,  perhaps,  but  I can’t  believe  it. 
I feel  as  if  I were  enchanted  or  bewitched.  It  is  barely  eight 
o’clock  yet  — it  is  nothing  like  half-past  — when  I have  had 
my  luggage  examined  at  that  briskest  of  Custom-Houses  at- 
tached to  the  station,  and  am  rattling  over  the  pavement  in  a 
Hackney  cabriolet. 

Surely,  not  the  pavement  of  Paris  ? Yes,  I think  it  is,  too. 
I don’t  know  any  other  place  where  there  are  all  these  high 
houses,  all  these  haggard-looking  wine  shops,  all  these  billiard 
tables,  all  these  stocking-makers  with  flat  red  or  yellow  legs 
of  wood  for  signboard,  all  these  fuel  shops  with  stacks  of 
billets  painted  outside,  and  real  billets  sawing  in  the  gutter, 
all  these  dirty  corners  of  streets,  all  these  cabinet  pictures 
over  dark  doorways  representing  discreet  matrons  nursing 
babies.  And  yet  this  morning  — I’ll  think  of  it  in  a warm- 
bath. 

Very  like  a small  room  that  I remember  in  the  Chinese 
Baths  upon  the  Boulevard,  certainly;  and,  though  I see  it 
through  the  steam,  I think  that  I might  swear  to  that  pecu- 
liar hot-linen  basket,  like  a large  wicker  hour-glass.  When 
can  it  have  been  that  I left  home  ? When  was  it  that  I paid 
“ through  to  Paris”  at  London  Bridge,  and  discharged  myself 
of  all  responsibility,  except  the  preservation  of  a voucher 


320 


A FLIGHT . 


ruled  into  three  divisions,  of  which  the  first  was  snipped  off 
at  Folkestone,  the  second  aboard  the  boat,  and  the  third  taken 
at  my  journey’s  end  ? It  seems  to  have  been  ages  ago.  Cal- 
culation is  useless.  I will  go  out  for  a walk. 

The  crowds  in  the  streets,  the  lights  in  the  shops  and  bal- 
conies, the  elegance,  variety,  and  beauty  of  their  decorations, 
the  number  of  the  theatres,  the  brilliant  cafes  with  their 
windows  thrown  up  high  and  their  vivacious  groups  at  little 
tables  on  the  pavement,  the  light  and  glitter  of  the  houses 
turned  as  it  were  inside  out,  soon  convince  me  that  it  is  no 
dream;  that  I am  in  Paris,  howsoever  I got  here.  I stroll 
down  to  the  sparkling  Palais  Royal,  up  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  to 
the  Place  Yenddme.  As  I glance  into  a print-shop  window, 
Monied  Interest,  my  late  travelling  companion,  comes  upon 
me,  laughing  with  the  highest  relish  of  disdain.  “ Here’s  a 
people  ! ” he  says,  pointing  to  Napoleon  in  the  window  and 
Napoleon  on  the  column.  “ Only  one  idea  all  over  Paris  ! 
A monomania ! ” Humph ! I think  I have  seen  Napoleon’s 
match  ? There  was  a statue,  when  I came  away,  at  Hyde 
Park  Corner,  and  another  in  the  Citj^,  and  a print  or  two  in 
the  shops. 

I walk  up  to  the  Barri&re  de  l’Etoile,  sufficiently  dazed  by 
my  flight  to  have  a pleasant  doubt  of  the  reality  of  everything 
about  me;  of  the  lively  crowd,  the  overhanging  trees,  the 
performing  dogs,  the  hobby-horses,  the  beautiful  perspectives 
of  shining  lamps  : the  hundred  and  one  inclosures,  where  the 
singing  is,  in  gleaming  orchestras  of  azure  and  gold,  and 
where  a star-eyed  Houri  comes  round  with  a box  for  voluntary 
offerings.  So,  I pass  to  my  hotel,  enchanted ; sup,  enchanted ; 
go  to  bed,  enchanted ; pushing  back  this  morning  (if  it  really 
were  this  morning)  into  the  remoteness  of  time,  blessing  the 
South  Eastern  Company  for  realizing  the  Arabian  Nights  in 
these  prose  days,  murmuring,  as  I wing  my  idle  flight  into  the 
land  of  dreams,  “ No  hurry,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  going  to 
Paris  in  eleven  hours.  It  is  so  well  done,  that  there  really  is 
no  hurry ! ” 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


We  are  not  by  any  means  devout  believers  in  the  Old  Bow 
Street  Police.  To  say  the  truth,  we  think  there  was  a vast 
amount  of  humbug  about  those  worthies.  Apart  from  many 
of  them  being  men  of  very  indifferent  character,  and  far  too 
much  in  the  habit  of  consorting  with  thieves  and  the  like,  they 
never  lost  a public  occasion  of  jobbing  and  trading  in  mystery 
and  making  the  most  of  themselves.  Continually  puffed 
besides  by  incompetent  magistrates  anxious  to  conceal  their 
own  deficiencies,  and  hand-in-glove  with  the  penny-a-liners  of 
that  time,  they  became  a sort  of  superstition.  Although  as  a 
Preventive  Police  they  were  utterly  ineffective,  and  as  a Detec- 
tive Police  were  very  loose  and  uncertain  in  their  operations, 
they  remain  with  some  people  a superstition  to  the  present 
day. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Detective  Force  organized  since  the 
establishment  of  the  existing  Police,  is  so  well  chosen  and 
trained,  proceeds  so  systematically  and  quietly,  does  its  busi- 
ness in  such  a workman-like  manner,  and  is  always  so  calmly 
and  steadily  engaged  in  the  service  of  the  public,  that  the  pub- 
lic really  do  not  know  enough  of  it,  to  know  a tithe  of  its  use- 
fulness. Impressed  with  this  conviction,  and  interested  in  the 
men  themselves,  we  represented  to  the  authorities  at  Scotland 
Yard,  that  we  should  be  glad,  if  there  were  no  official  objection, 
to  have  some  talk  with  the  Detectives.  A most  obliging  and 
ready  permission  being  given,  a certain  evening  was  appointed 
with  a certain  Inspector  for  a social  conference  between  our- 
selves and  the  Detectives,  at  The  Household  Words  Office  in 
Wellington  Street,  Strand,  London.  In  consequence  of  which 
appointment  the  party  “came  off,”  which  we  are  about  to 
describe.  And  we  beg  to  repeat  that,  avoiding  such  topics  as 
it  might  for  obvious  reasons  be  injurious  to  the  public,  or  dis- 
vol.  n — 21  321 


322 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


agreeable  to  respectable  individuals;  to  touch  upon  in  print, 
our  description  is  as  exact  as  we  can  make  it. 

The  reader  will  have  the  goodness  to  imagine  the  Sanctum 
Sanctorum  of  Household  Words.  Anything  that  best  suits 
the  reader’s  fancy,  will  best  represent  that  magnificent  cham- 
ber. We  merely  stipulate  for  a round  table  in  the  middle, 
with  some  glasses  and  cigars  arranged  upon  it ; and  the  edi- 
torial sofa  elegantly  hemmed  in  between  that  stately  piece  of 
furniture  and  the  wall. 

It  is  a sultry  evening  at  dusk.  The  stones  of  Wellington 
Street  are  hot  and  gritty,  and  the  watermen  and  hackney- 
coachmen  at  the  Theatre  opposite,  are  much  flushed  and 
aggravated.  Carriages  are  constantly  setting  down  the  people 
who  have  come  to  Fairy-Land ; and  there  is  a mighty  shouting 
and  bellowing  every  now  and  then,  deafening  us  for  the 
moment,  through  the  open  windows. 

Just  at  dusk,  InsjDectors  Wield  and  Stalker  are  announced; 
but  we  do  not  undertake  to  warrant  the  orthography  of  any  of 
the  names  here  mentioned.  Inspector  Wield  presents  Inspector 
Stalker.  Inspector  Wield  is  a middle-aged  man  of  a portly 
presence,  with  a large,  moist,  knowing  eye,  a husky  voice,  and 
a habit  of  emphasizing  his  conversation  by  the  aid  of  a corpu- 
lent forefinger,  which  is  constantly  in  juxta-position  with  his 
eyes  or  nose.  Inspector  Stalker  is  a shrewd,  hard-headed 
Scotchman  — in  appearance  not  at  all  unlike  a very  acute, 
thoroughly-trained  schoolmaster,  from  the  Normal  Establish- 
ment at  Glasgow.  Inspector  Wield  one  might  have  known, 
perhaps,  for  what  he  is  — Inspector  Stalker,  never. 

The  ceremonies  of  reception  over,  Inspectors  Wield  and 
Stalker  observe  that  they  have  brought  some  sergeants  with 
them.  The  sergeants  are  presented  — five  in  number,  Sergeant 
Dornton,  Sergeant  Witchem,  Sergeant  Mith,  Sergeant  Fendall, 
and  Sergeant  Straw.  We  have  the  whole  Detective  Force 
from  Scotland  Yard,  with  one  exception.  They  sit  down  in  a 
semi-circle  (the  two  Inspectors  at  the  two  ends)  at  a little 
distance  from  the  round  table,  facing  the  editorial  sofa.  Every 
man  of  them,  in  a glance,  immediately  takes  an  inventory  of 
the  furniture  and  an  accurate  sketch  of  the  editorial  presence. 
The  Editor  feels  that  any  gentleman  in  company  could  take 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


323 


him  up,  if  need  should  be,  without  the  smallest  hesitation, 
twenty  years  hence. 

The  whole  party  are  in  plain  clothes.  Sergeant  Dornton, 
about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  a ruddy  face  and  a high  sun- 
burnt forehead,  has  the  air  of  one  who  has  been  a Sergeant  in 
the  army — he  might  have  sat  to  Wilkie  for  the  Soldier  in  the 
Beading  of  the  Will.  He  is  famous  for  steadily  pursuing  the 
inductive  process,  and,  from  small  beginnings,  working  on  from 
clue  to  clue  until  he  bags  his  man.  Sergeant  Witchem,  shorter 
and  thicker-set,  and  marked  with  the  small  pox,  has  something 
of  a reserved  and  thoughtful  air,  as  if  he  were  engaged  in  deep 
arithmetical  calculations.  He  is  renowned  for  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  swell  mob.  Sergeant  Mith,  a smooth-faced  man 
with  a fresh  bright  complexion,  and  a strange  air  of  simplicity, 
is  a dab  at  housebreakers.  Sergeant  Fendall,  a light-haired, 
well-spoken,  polite  person,  is  a prodigious  hand  at  pursuing 
private  inquiries  of  a delicate  nature.  Straw,  a little  wiry 
Sergeant  of  meek  demeanor  and  strong  sense,  would  knock  at 
a door  and  ask  a series  of  questions  in  any  mild  character  you 
choose  to  prescribe  to  him,  from  a charity-boy  upwards,  and 
seem  as  innocent  as  an  infant.  They  are,  one  and  all,  respect- 
able-looking men ; of  perfectly  good  deportment  and  unusual 
intelligence  ; with  nothing  lounging  or  slinking  in  their  man- 
ners ; with  an  air  of  keen  observation  and  quick  perception 
when  addressed ; and  generally  presenting  in  their  faces,  traces 
more  or  less  marked  of  habitually  leading  lives  of  strong  men- 
tal excitement.  They  have  all  good  eyes ; and  they  all  can, 
and  they  all  do,  look  full  at  whomsoever  they  speak  to. 

We  light  the  cigars,  and  hand  round  the  glasses  (which  are 
very  temperately  used  indeed),  and  the  conversation  begins  by 
a modest  amateur  reference  on  the  Editorial  part  to  the  swell 
mob.  Inspector  Wield  immediately  removes  his  cigar  from 
his  lips,  waves  his  right  hand,  and  says,  “ Begarding  the  swell 
mob,  sir,  I can’t  do  better  than  call  upon  Sergeant  Witchem. 
Because  the  reason  why  ? I’ll  tell  you.  Sergeant  Witchem 
is  better  acquainted  with  the  swell  mob  than  any  officer  in 
London.” 

Our  heart  leaping  up  when  we  beheld  this  rainbow  in  the 
sky,  we  turn  to  Sergeant  Witchem,  who  very  concisely,  and 


324 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


in  well-chosen  language,  goes  into  the  subject  forthwith. 
Meantime,  the  whole  of  his  brother  officers  are  closely 
interested  in  attending  to  what  he  says,  and  observing  its 
effect.  Presently  they  begin  to  strike  in,  one  or  two  together, 
when  an  opportunity  offers,  and  the  conversation  becomes 
general.  But  these  brother  officers  only  come  in  to  the  assist- 
ance of  each  other  — not  to  the  contradiction  — and  a more 
amicable  brotherhood  there  could  not  be.  From  the  swell 
mob,  we  diverge  to  the  kindred  topics  of  cracksmen,  fences, 
public-house  dances,  area-sneaks,  designing  young  people  who 
go  out  “ gonophing,’’  and  other  “ schools.”  It  is  observable 
throughout  these  revelations,  that  Inspector  Stalker,  the 
Scotchman,  is  always  exact  and  statistical,  and  that  when  any 
question  of  figures  arises,  everybody  as  by  one  consent  pauses, 
and  looks  to  him. 

When  we  have  exhausted  the  various  schools  of  Art  — dur- 
ing which  discussion  the  whole  body  have  remained  profoundly 
attentive,  except  when  some  unusual  noise  at  the  Theatre  over 
the  way  has  induced  some  gentleman  to  glance  inquiringly 
towards  the  window  in  that  direction,  behind  his  next  neigh- 
bor’s back  — we  burrow  for  information  on  such  points  as  the 
following.  Whether  there  really  are  any  highway  robberies 
in  London,  or  whether  some  circumstances  not  convenient  to 
be  mentioned  by  the  aggrieved  party,  usually  precede  the 
robberies  complained  of,  under  that  head,  which  quite 
change  their  character  ? Certainly  the  latter,  almost  always. 
Whether  in  the  case  of  robberies  in  houses,  where  servants 
are  necessarily  exposed  to  doubt,  innocence  under  suspicion 
ever  becomes  so  like  guilt  in  appearance,  that  a good  officer 
need  be  cautious  how  he  judges  it?  Undoubtedly.  Nothing 
is  so  common  or  deceptive  as  such  appearances  at  first. 
Whether  in  a place  of  public  amusement,  a thief  knows  an 
officer,  and  an  officer  knows  a thief  — supposing  them,  before- 
hand, strangers  to  each  other  — because  each  recognizes  in  the 
other,  under  all  disguise,  an  inattention  to  what  is  going  on, 
and  a purpose  that  is  not  the  purpose  of  being  entertained? 
Yes.  That’s  the  way  exactly.  Whether  it  is  reasonable  or 
ridiculous  to  trust  to  the  alleged  experiences  of  thieves  as 
narrated  by  themselves,  in  prisons,  or  penitentiaries,  or  any- 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


325 


where  ? In  general,  nothing  more  absurd.  Lying  is  their 
habit  and  their  trade ; and  they  would  rather  lie  — even  if 
they  hadn’t  an  interest  in  it,  and  didn’t  want  to  make  them- 
selves agreeable  — than  tell  the  truth. 

From  these  topics,  we  glide  into  a review  of  the  most  cele-^ 
brated  and  horrible  of  the  great  crimes  that  have  been  com- 
mitted within  the  last  fifteen  or  twenty  years.  The  men 
engaged  in  the  discovery  of  almost  all  of  them,  and  in  the 
pursuit  or  apprehension  of  the  murderers,  are  here,  down  to 
the  very  last  instance.  One  of  our  guests  gave  chase  to  and 
boarded  the  emigrant  ship,  in  which  the  murderess  last  hanged 
in  London  was  supposed  to  have  embarked.  We  learn  from 
him  that  his  errand  was  not  announced  to  the  passengers,  who 
may  have  no  idea  of  it  to  this  hour.  That  he  went  below, 
with  the  captain,  lamp  in  hand  — it  being  dark,  and  the  whole 
steerage  abed  and  sea-sick  — and  engaged  the  Mrs.  Manning 
who  was  on  board,  in  a conversation  about  her  luggage,  until 
she  was,  with  no  small  pains,  induced  to  raise  her  head,  and 
turn  her  face  towards  the  light.  Satisfied  that  she  was  not 
the  object  of  his  search,  he  quietly  re-embarked  in  the  Gov- 
ernment steamer  alongside,  and  steamed  home  again  with  the 
intelligence. 

When  we  have  exhausted  these  subjects,  too,  which  occupy 
a considerable  time  in  the  discussion,  two  or  three  leave  their 
chairs,  whisper  Sergeant  Witchem,  and  resume  their  seats. 
Sergeant  Witchem  leaning  forward  a little,  and  placing  a 
hand  on  each  of  his  legs,  then  modestly  speaks  as  follows : 

“My  brother-officers  wish  me  to  relate  a little  account  of 
my  taking  Tally-ho  Thompson.  A man  oughtn’t  to  tell  what 
he  has  done  himself ; but  still,  as  nobody  was  with  me,  and, 
consequently,  as  nobody  but  myself  can  tell  it,  I’ll  do  it  in  the 
best  way  I can,  if  it  should  meet  your  approval.” 

We  assure  Sergeant  Witchem  that  he  will  oblige  us  very 
much,  and  we  all  compose  ourselves  to  listen  with  great  inter- 
est and  attention. 

“ Tally-ho  Thompson,”  says  Sergeant  Witchem,  after 
merely  wetting  his  lips  with  his  brandy-and- water,  “ Tally-ho 
Thompson  was  a famous  horse-stealer,  couper,  and  magsman. 
Thompson,  in  conjunction  with  a pal  that  occasionally  worked 


326 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


with  him,  gammoned  a countryman  out  of  a good  round  sum 
of  money,  under  pretence  of  getting  him  a situation  — the 
regular  old  dodge  — and  was  afterwards  in  the  ‘ Hue  and  Cry ’ 
for  a horse  — a horse  that  he  stole,  down  in  Hertfordshire.  I 
had  to  look  after  Thompson,  and  I applied  myself,  of  course, 
in  the  first  instance,  to  discovering  where  he  was.  Now, 
Thompson’s  wife  lived,  along  with  a little  daughter,  at  Chelsea. 
Knowing  that  Thompson  was  somewhere  in  the  country,  I 
watched  the  house  — especially  at  post-time  in  the  morning  — 
thinking  Thompson  was  pretty  likely  to  write  to  her.  Sure 
enough,  one  morning  the  postman  comes  up,  and  delivers  a 
letter  at  Mrs.  Thompson’s  door.  Little  girl  opens  the  door, 
and  takes  it  in.  We’re  not  always  sure  of  postmen,  though 
the  people  at  the  post-offices  are  always  very  obliging.  A 
postman  may  help  us,  or  he  may  not, — just  as  it  happens. 
However,  I go  across  the  road,  and  I say  to  the  postman, 
after  he  has  left  the  letter,  ‘ Good  morning ! how  are  you  ? ’ 
‘How  are  youV  says  he.  ‘You’ve  just  delivered  a letter 
for  Mrs.  Thompson.’  ‘Yes,  I have.’  ‘You  didn’t  happen 
to  remark  what  the  post-mark  was,  perhaps  ? ’ ‘No,’ 

says  he,  ‘I  didn’t.’  ‘Come,’  says  I,  ‘I’ll  be  plain  with  you. 
I’m  in  a small  way  of  business,  and  I have  given  Thompson 
credit,  and  I can’t  afford  to  lose  what  he  owes  me.  I know 
he’s  got  money,  and  I know  he’s  in  the  country,  and  if 
you  could  tell  me  what  the  post-mark  was,  I should  be  very 
much  obliged  to  you,  and  you’d  do  a service  to  a tradesman 
in  a small  way  of  business  that  can’t  afford  a loss.’  ‘ Well,’ 
he  said,  ‘ I do  assure  you  that  I did  not  observe  what  the 
post-mark  was ; all  I know  is,  that  there  was  money  in  the 
letter — I should  say  a sovereign.’  This  was  enough  for  me, 
because  of  course  I knew  that  Thompson  having  sent  his  wife 
money,  it  was  probable  she’d  write  to  Thompson,  by  return 
of  post,  to  acknowledge  the  receipt.  So  I said  ‘ Thankee  ’ to 
the  postman,  and  I kept  on  the  watch.  In  the  afternoon  I 
saw  the  little  girl  come  out.  Of  course  I followed  her.  She 
went  into  a stationer’s  shop,  and  I needn’t  say  to  you  that  I 
looked  in  at  the  window.  She  bought  some  writing-paper 
and  envelopes,  and  a pen.  I think  to  myself,  ‘ That’ll  do  ! ’ 
— watch  her  home  again  — and  don’t  go  away,  you  may  be 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


327 


sure,  knowing  that  Mrs.  Thompson  was  writing  her  letter  to 
Tally-ho,  and  that  the  letter  would  be  posted  presently.  In 
about  an  hour  or  so,  out  came  the  little  girl  again,  with 
the  letter  in  her  hand.  I went  up,  and  said  something  to 
the  child,  whatever  it  might  have  been ; but  I couldn’t  see  the 
direction  of  the  letter,  because  she  held  it  with  the  seal 
upwards.  However,  I observed  that  on  the  back  of  the  letter 
there  was  what  we  call  a kiss  — a drop  of  wax  by  the  side  of 
the  seal  — and  again,  you  understand,  that  was  enough  for  me. 
I saw  her  post  the  letter,  waited  till  she  was  gone,  then  went 
into  the  shop,  and  asked  to  see  the  Master.  When  he  came 
out,  I told  him,  ‘Now,  I’m  an  Officer  in  the  Detective  Force; 
there’s  a letter  with  a kiss  been  posted  here  just  now,  for  a 
man  that  I’m  in  search  of ; and  what  I have  to  ask  of  you,  is, 
that  you  will  let  me  look  at  the  direction  of  that  letter.’  He 
was  very  civil  — took  a lot  of  letters  from  the  box  in  the 
window  — shook  ’em  out  on  the  counter  with  the  faces  down- 
wards — and  there  among  ’em  was  the  identical  letter  with  the 
kiss.  It  was  directed,  Mr.  Thomas  Pigeon,  Post  Office, 

B , to  be  left  ’till  called  for.  Down  I went  to  B 

(a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  or  so)  that  night.  Early  next 
morning  I went  to  the  Post  Office ; saw  the  gentleman  in 
charge  of  that  department ; told  him  who  I was  ; and  that  my 
object  was  to  see,  and  track,  the  party  that  should  come  for  the 
letter  for  Mr.  Thomas  Pigeon.  He  was  very  polite,  and  said, 
‘ You  shall  have  every  assistance  we  can  give  you ; you  can 
wait  inside  the  office ; and  we’ll  take  care  to  let  you  know 
when  anybody  comes  for  the  letter.’  Well,  I waited  there 
three  days,  and  began  to  think  that  nobody  ever  would  come. 
At  last  the  clerk  whispered  to  me,  ‘ Here  ! Detective  ! Some- 
body’s come  for  the  letter  ! ’ ‘ Keep  him  a minute,’  said  I,  and 
I ran  round  to  the  outside  of  the  office.  There  I saw  a young 
chap  with  the  appearance  of  an  Ostler,  holding  a horse  by  the 
bridle  — stretching  the  bridle  across  the  pavement,  while  he 
waited  at  the  Post  Office  Window  for  the  letter.  I began  to 
pat  the  horse,  and  that ; and  I said  to  the  boy,  ‘ Why,  this  is 
Mr.  Jones’s  Mare!’  ‘No.  It  an’t.’  ‘No?’  said  I.  ‘She’s 
very  like  Mr.  Jones’s  Mare!’  ‘She  an’t  Mr.  Jones’s  Mare, 
anyhow,’  says  he.  ‘It’s  Mr.  So  and  So’s,  of  the  Warwick 


328 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


'Arms.’  And  np  lie  jumped,  and  off  lie  went  — letter  and  all. 
I got  a cab,  followed  on  the  box,  and  was  so  quick  after  him 
that  I came  into  the  stable-yard  of  the  Warwick  Arms,  by  one 
gate,  just  as  he  came  in  by  another.  I went  into  the  bar, 
where  there  was  a young  woman  serving,  and  called  for  a 
glass  of  brandy-and-water.  He  came  in  directly,  and  handed 
her  the  letter.  She  casually  looked  at  it,  without  saying  any- 
thing, and  stuck  it  up  behind  the  glass  over  the  chimney- 
piece.  What  was  to  be  done  next  ? 

“ I turned  it  over  in  my  mind  while  I drank  my  brandy- 
and-water  (looking  pretty  sharp  at  the  letter  the  while)  but  I 
couldn’t  see  my  way  out  of  it  at  all.  I tried  to  get  lodgings 
in  the  house,  but  there  had  been  a horse-fair,  or  something  of 
that  sort,  and  it  was  full.  I was  obliged  to  put  up  some- 
where else,  but  I came  backwards  and  forwards  to  the  bar  for 
a couple  of  days,  and  there  was  the  letter  always  behind  the 
glass.  At  last  I thought  I’d  write  a letter  to  Mr.  Pigeon  my- 
self, and  see  what  that  would  do.  So  I wrote  one,  and  posted 
it,  but  I purposely  addressed  it,  Mr.  John  Pigeon,  instead  of 
Mr.  Thomas  Pigeon,  to  see  what  that  would  do.  In  the  morn- 
ing (a  very  wet  morning  it  was)  I watched  the  postman  down 
the  street,  and  cut  into  the  bar,  just  before  he  reached  the 
Warwick  Arms.  In  he  came  presently  with  my  letter.  ‘Is 
there  a Mr.  John  Pigeon  staying  here?’  ‘No!  — stop  a bit 
though,’  says  the  barmaid;  and  she  took  down  the  letter 
behind  the  glass.  ‘No,’  says  she,  ‘it’s  Thomas,  and  he  is  not 
staying  here.  Would  you  do  me  a favor  and  post  this  for  me, 
as  it  is  so  wet  ? ’ The  postman  said  Yes ; she  folded  it  in 
another  envelope,  directed  it,  and  gave  it  him.  He  put  it  in 
his  hat,  and  away  he  went. 

“ I had  no  difficulty  in  finding  out  the  direction  of  that 
letter.  It  was  addressed  Mr.  Thomas  Pigeon,  Post  Office, 

R , Northamptonshire,  to  be  left  till  called  for.  Off  I 

started  directly  for  R ; I said  the  same  at  the  Post  Office 

there,  as  I had  said  at  B ; and  again  I waited  three  days 

before  anybody  came.  At  last  another  chap  on  horseback 
came.  ‘Any  letters  for  Mr.  Thomas  Pigeon?’  ‘Where  do 

you  come  from?’  ‘New  Inn,  near  R .’  He  got  the 

letter,  and  away  he  went  at  a canter. 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


329 


“I  made  my  inquiries  about  the  New  Inn,  near  E , and 

hearing  it  was  a solitary  sort  of  house,  a little  in  the  horse 
line,  about  a couple  of  miles  from  the  station,  I thought  I?d 
go  and  have  a look  at  it.  I found  it  what  it  had  been  de- 
scribed, and  sauntered  in,  to  look  about  me.  The  landlady 
was  in  the  bar,  and  I was  trying  to  get  into  conversation  with 
her;  asked  her  how  business  was,  and  spoke  about  the  wet 
weather,  and  so  on ; when  I saw,  through  an  open  door,  three 
men  sitting  by  the  fire  in  a sort  of  parlor,  or  kitchen  ; and  one 
of  those  men,  according  to  the  description  I had  of  him,  was 
Tally-ho  Thompson  ! 

“I  went  and  sat  down  among  ’em,  and  tried  to  make  things 
agreea'ble;  but  they  were  very  shy  — wouldn’t  talk  at  all  — 
looked  at  me,  and  at  one  another,  in  a way  quite  the  reverse 
of  sociable.  I reckoned  ’em  up,  and  finding  that  they  were 
all  three  bigger  men  than  me,  and  considering  that  their  looks 
were  ugly  — that  it  was  a lonely  place  — railroad  station  two 
miles  off  — and  night  coming  on  — thought  I couldn’t  do  bet- 
ter than  have  a drop  of  brandy-and-water  to  keep  my  courage 
up.  So  I called  for  my  brandy-and-water ; and  as  I was  sit- 
ting drinking  it  by  the  fire,  Thompson  got  up  and  went  out. 

“Now  the  difficulty  of  it  was,  that  I wasn’t  sure  it  was 
Thompson,  because  I had  never  set  eyes  on  him  before ; and 
what  I had  wanted  was  to  be  quite  certain  of  him.  'However, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  now,  but  to  follow,  and  put  a bold 
face  upon  it.  I found  him  talking,  outside  in  the  yard,  with 
the  landlady.  It  turned  out  afterwards  that  he  was  wanted 
by  a Northampton  officer  for  something  else,  and  that,  know- 
ing that  officer  to  be  pock-marked  (as  I am  myself),  he  mis- 
took me  for  him.  As  I have  observed,  I found  him  talking  to 
the  landlady,  outside.  I put  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder  — 
this  way  — and  said,  ‘ Tally-ho  Thompson,  it’s  no  use.  I know 
you.  I’m  an  officer  from  London,  and  I take  you  into  custody 
for  felony  ! ’ ‘ That  be  d — d ! ’ says  Tally-ho  Thompson. 

“We  went  back  into  the  house,  and  the  two  friends  began 
to  cut  up  rough,  and  their  looks  didn’t  please  me  at  all,  I 
assure  you.  ‘Let  the  man  go.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
him  ? ’ e I’ll  tell  you  what  I’m  going  to  do  with  him.  I’m  going 
to  take  him  to  London  to-night,  as  sure  as  I’m  alive.  I’m  not 


330 


TIIE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


alone  here,  whatever  you  may  think.  You  mind  your  own 
business,  and  keep  yourselves  to  yourselves.  It?ll  be  better 
for  you,  for  I know  you  both  very  well.’  /’d  never  seen  or 
heard  of  ’em  in  all  my  life,  but  my  bouncing  cowed  ’em  a 
bit,  and  they  kept  off,  while  Thompson  was  making  ready  to 
go.  I thought  to  myself,  however,  that  they  might  be  com- 
ing after  me  on  the  dark  road,  to  rescue  Thompson;  so  I 
said  to  the  landlady,  ‘What  men  have  you  got  in  the  house, 
Missis?’  ‘We  haven’t  got  no  men  here,’  she  says,  sulkily. 
‘You  have  got  an  ostler,  I suppose?’  ‘Yes,  we’ve  got  an 
ostler.’  ‘ Let  me  see  him.’  Presently  he  came,  and  a shaggy- 
headed  young  fellow  he  was.  ‘How  attend  to  me,  young 
man,’  says  I ; ‘ I’m  a Detective  Officer  from  London.  This 
man’s  name  is  Thompson.  I have  taken  him  into  custody 
for  felony.  I’m  going  to  take  him  to  the  railroad  station. 
I call  upon  you  in  the  Queen’s  name  to  assist  me ; and 
mind  you,  my  friend,  you’ll  get  yourself  into  more  trouble 
than  you  know  of,  if  you  don’t ! ’ You  never  saw  a person 
open  his  eyes  so  wide.  ‘How,  Thompson,  come  along!’  says 
I.  But  when  I took  out  the  handcuffs,  Thompson  cries, 
‘ Ho  ! Hone  of  that ! I won’t  stand  them ! I’ll  go  along 
with  you  quiet,  but  I won’t  bear  none  of  that.’  ‘Tally-ho 
Thompson,’  I said,  ‘ I’m  willing  to  behave  as  a man  to  you,  if 
you  are  willing  to  behave  as  a man  to  me.  Give  me  your 
word  that  you’ll  come  peaceably  along,  and  I don’t  want  to 
handcuff  you.’  ‘ I will,’  says  Thompson,  ‘ but  I’ll  have  a glass 
of  brandy  first.’  ‘I  don’t  care  if  I’ve  another,’  said  I.  ‘We’ll 
have  two  more,  Missis,’  said  the  friends,  ‘ and  con-found  you, 
Constable,  you’ll  give  your  man  a drop,  won’t  you  ? ’ I was 
agreeable  to  that,  so  we  had  it  all  round,  and  then  my  man 
and  I took  Tally-ho  Thompson  safe  to  the  railroad,  and  I 
carried  him  to  London  that  night.  He  was  afterwards  acquit- 
ted, on  account  of  a defect  in  the  evidence ; and  I understand 
he  always  praises  me  up  to  the  skies,  and  says  I’m  one  of  the 
best  of  men.” 

This  story  coming  to  a termination  amidst  general  applause, 
Inspecter  Wield,  after  a little  grave  smoking,  fixes  his  eye  on 
his  host,  and  thus  delivers  himself : 

“ It  wasn’t  a bad  plant  that  of  mine,  on  Fikey,  the  man 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


331 


accused  of  forging  the  Sou/  Western  Kailway  debentures  — it 
was  only  t’other  day  — because  the  reason  why  ? I’ll  tell 
you. 

“I  had  information  that  Fikey  and  his  brother  kept  a 
factory  over  yonder  there,”  — indicating  any  region  on  the 
Surrey  side  of  the  river  — “ where  he  bought  second-hand 
carriages  ; so  after  I’d  tried  in  vain  to  get  hold  of  him  by 
other  means,  I wrote  him  a letter  in  an  assumed  name,  saying 
that  I’d  got  a horse  and  shay  to  dispose  of,  and  would  drive 
down  next  day  that  he  might  view  the  lot,  and  make  an  offer 
— very  reasonable  it  was,  I said  — a reg’lar  bargain.  Straw 
and  me  then  went  off  to  a friend  of  mine  that’s  in  the  livery 
and  job  business,  and  hired  a turn-out  for  the  day,  a precious 
smart  turn-out  it  was — quite  a slap-up  thing!  Down  we 
drove,  accordingly,  with  a friend  (who’s  not  in  the  Force 
himself);  and  leaving  my  friend  in  the  shay  near  a public- 
house,  to  take  care  of  the  horse,  we  went  to  the  factory, 
which  was  some  little  way  off.  In  the  factory,  there  was  a 
number  of  strong  fellows  at  work,  and  after  reckoning  ’em  up, 
it  was  clear  to  me  that  it  wouldn’t  do  to  try  it  on  there.  They 
were  too  many  for  us.  We  must  get  our  man  out  of  doors. 
‘Mr.  Fikey  at  home?’  ‘No,  he  ain’t.’  ‘Expected  home 
soon?’  ‘Why,  no,  not  soon.’  ‘Ah!  is  his  brother  here?’ 
‘ I’m  his  brother.’  ‘ Oh  ! well,  this  is  an  ill-conwenience,  this 
is.  J wrote  him  a letter  yesterday,  saying  I’d  got  a little 
turn-out  to  dispose  of,  and  I’ve  took  the  trouble  to  bring  the 
turn-out  down,  a’  purpose,  and  now  he  ain’t  in  the  way.’  ‘ No, 
he  ain’t  in  the  way.  You  couldn’t  make  it  convenient  to  call 
again,  could  you  ? ’ ‘ Why,  no,  I couldn’t.  I want  to  sell ; 

that’s  the  fact ; and  I can’t  put  it  off.  Could  you  find  him 
anywheres  ? ’ At  first  he  said  No  he  couldn’t,  and  then  he 
wasn’t  sure  about  it,  and  then  he’d  go  and  try.  So,  at  last  he 
went  up  stairs,  where  there  was  a sort  of  loft,  and  presently 
down  comes  my  man  himself,  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

“‘Well,’  he  says,  ‘this  seems  to  be  rayther  a pressing 
matter  of  yours.’  ‘Yes,’  I says,  ‘it  is  rayther  a pressing 
matter,  and  you’ll  find  it  a bargain  — dirt-cheap.’  ‘I  ain’t  in 
partickler  want  of  a bargain  just  now,’  he  says,  ‘but  where  is 
it  ? ’ ‘ Why,’  I says,  ‘ the  turn-out’s  just  outside.  Come  and 


332 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


look  at  it.’  He  hasn’t  any  suspicions,  and  away  we  go.  And 
the  first  thing  that  happens  is,  that  the  horse  runs  away  with 
my  friend  (who  knows  no  more  of  driving  than  a child)  when 
he  takes  a little  trot  along  the  road  to  show  his  paces.  You 
never  saw  such  a game  in  your  life  ! 

“When  the  bolt  is  over,  and  the  turn-out  has.  come  to  a 
stand-still  again,  Fikey  walks  round  and  round  it  as  grave  as 
a judge  — me  too.  ‘ There,  sir!’  I says.  ‘ There’s  a neat 
thing ! ’ ‘It  ain’t  a bad  style  of  thing,’  he  says.  ‘ I believe 
you,’  says  I.  ‘ And  there’s  a horse  ! ’ — for  I saw  him  looking 
at  it.  ‘ Bising  eight ! ’ I says,  rubbing  his  fore-legs.  (Bless 
you,  there  ain’t  a man  in  the  world  knows  less  of  horses  than 
I do,  but  I’d  heard  my  friend  at  the  Livery  Stables  say  he 
was  eight  year  old,  so  I says,  as  knowing  as  possible  ‘ Bising 
Eight.’)  ‘Bising  eight,  is  he?’  says  he.  ‘Bising  eight’ 
says  I.  ‘ Well,’  he  says,  ‘ what  do  you  want  for  it  ? ’ ‘ Why, 

the  first  and  last  figure  for  the  whole  concern  is  five-and- 
twenty  pound  ! ’ ‘ That’s  very  cheap  ! ’ he  says,  looking  at 

me.  ‘Ain’t  it?’  I says.  ‘I  told  you  it  was  a bargain! 
Now,  without  any  higgling  and  haggling  about  it,  wh.at  I 
want  is  to  sell,  and  that’s  my  price.  Further,  I’ll  make  it 
easy  to  you,  and  take  half  the  money  down,  and  you  can  do  a 
bit  of  stiff1  for  the  balance.’  ‘Well,’  he  says  again,  ‘that’s 
very  cheap.’  ‘ I believe  you,’  says  I ; ‘ get  in  and  try  it,  and 
you’ll  buy  it.  Come  ! take  a trial ! ’ 

“ Ecod,  he  gets  in,  and  we  get  in,  and  we  drive  along 
the  road,  to  show  him  to  one  of  the  railway  clerks  that  was 
hid  in  the  public-house  window  to  identify  him.  But  the 
clerk  was  bothered,  and  didn’t  know  whether  it  was  him,  or 
wasn’t  — because  the  reason  why  ? I’ll  tell  you,  — on  account 
of  his  having  shaved  his  whiskers.  ‘ It’s  a clever  little  horse,’ 
he  says,  ‘and  trots  well;  and  the  shay  runs  light.’  ‘Not  a 
doubt  about  it,’  I says.  ‘ And  now,  Mr.  Fikey,  I may  as  well 
make  it  all  right,  without  wasting  any  more  of  your  time. 
The  fact  is,  I’m  Inspector  Wield,  and  you’re  my  prisoner.’ 
‘You  don’t  mean  that?’  he  says.  ‘I  do,  indeed.’  ‘Then 
burn  my  body,’  says  Fikey,  ‘ if  this  ain’t  too  bad ! ’ 


1 Give  a bill. 


THE  LONG  VOYAGE 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


333 


“ Perhaps  you  never  saw  a man  so  knocked  over  with  sur- 
prise. ‘ I hope  you’ll  let  me  have  my  coat  ? ’ he  says.  ‘ By 
all  means.’  6 Well,  then,  let’s  drive  to  the  factory.’  c Why, 
not  exactly  that,  I think,’  said  I;  ‘I’ve  been  there,  once 
before,  to-day.  Suppose  we  send  for  it.’  He  saw  it  was  no 
go,  so  he  sent  for  it,  and  put  it  on,  and  we  drove  him  up  to 
London,  comfortable.” 

This  reminiscence  is  in  the  height  of  its  success,  when  a 
general  proposal  is  made  to  the  fresh-complexioned,  smooth- 
faced officer,  with  the  strange  air  of  simplicity,  to  tell  the 
“Butcher’s  story.” 

The  fresh-complexioned,  smooth-faced  officer,  with  the 
strange  air  of  simplicity,  began,  with  a rustic  smile,  and  in  a 
soft,  wheedling  tone  of  voice,  to  relate  the  Butcher’s  Story, 
thus : 

“ It’s  just  about  six  years  ago,  now,  since  information  was 
given  at  Scotland  Yard  of  there  being  extensive  robberies  of 
lawns  and  silks  going  on,  at  some  wholesale  houses  in  the 
City.  Directions  were  given  for  the  business  being  looked 
into ; and  Straw,  and  Fendall,  and  me,  we  were  all  in  it.” 

“ When  you  received  your  instructions,”  said  we,  “ you  went 
away,  and  held  a sort  of  Cabinet  Council  together  ! ” 

The  smooth-faced  officer  coaxingly  replied,  “ Ye-es.  Just  so. 
We  turned  it  over  among  ourselves  a good  deal.  It  appeared, 
when  we  went  into  it,  that  the  goods  were  sold  by  the  re- 
ceivers extraordinarily  cheap — much  cheaper  than  they  could 
have  been  if  they  had  been  honestly  come  by.  The  receivers 
were  in  the  trade,  and  kept  capital  shops  — establishments  of 
the  first  respectability — one  of  ’em  at  the  West  End,  one  down 
in  Westminster.  After  a lot  of  watching  and  inquiry,  and  this 
and  that  among  ourselves,  we  found  that  the  job  was  managed, 
and  the  purchases  of  the  stolen  goods  made,  at  a little  public- 
house  near  Smithfield,  down  by  Saint  Bartholomew’s ; where 
the  Warehouse  Porters,  who  were  the  thieves,  took  ’em  for 
that  purpose,  don’t  you  see  ? and  made  appointments  to  meet 
the  people  that  went  between  themselves  and  the  receivers. 
This  public-house  was  principally  used  by  journeymen  butchers 
from  the  country,  out  of  place,  and  in  want  of  situations ; 
so,  what  did  we  do,  but  — ha,  ha,  ha!  — we  agreed  that  I 


334 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


should  be  dressed  up  like  a butcher  myself,  and  go  and  live 
there ! ” 

Never,  surely,  was  a faculty  of  observation  better  brought 
to  bear  upon  a purpose,  than  that  which  picked  out  this 
officer  for  the  part.  Nothing  in  all  creation,  could  have 
suited  him  better.  Even  while  he  spoke,  he  became  a greasy, 
sleepy,  shy,  good-natured,  chuckle-headed,  unsuspicious,  and 
confiding  young  butcher.  His  very  hair  seemed  to  have  suet 
in  it,  as  he  made  it  smooth  upon  his  head,  and  his  fresh 
complexion  to  be  lubricated  by  large  quantities  of  animal 
food. 

— “ So  I — ha,  ha,  ha ! ” (always  with  the  confiding  snigger 
of  the  foolish  young  butcher)  “so  I dressed  myself  in  the 
regular  way,  made  up  a little  bundle  of  clothes,  and  went 
to  the  public-house,  and  asked  if  I could  have  a lodging 
there  ? They  says,  ‘yes,  you  can  have  a lodging  here/  and  I 
got  a bed-room,  and  settled  myself  down  in  the  tap.  There 
was  a number  of  people  about  the  place,  and  coming  back- 
wards and  forwards  to  the  house ; and  first  one  says,  and  then 
another  says,  6 Are  you  from  the  country,  young  man  ? ’ c Yes/ 
I says,  6 1 am.  I’m  come  out  of  Northamptonshire,  and  I’m 
quite  lonely  here,  for  I don’t  know  London  at  all,  and  it’s 
such  a mighty  big  town  ? ’ ‘It  is  a big  town/  they  says. 
‘ Oh,  it’s  a very  big  town ! ’ I says.  ‘ Beally  and  truly  I 
never  was  in  such  a town.  It  quite  confuses  of  me!’  — and 
all  that,  you  know. 

“When  some  of  the  Journeymen  Butchers  that  used  the 
house,  found  that  I wanted  a place,  they  says,  ‘ Oh,  we’ll  get 
you  a place ! ’ And  they  actually  took  me  to  a sight  of  places, 
in  Newgate  Market,  Newport  Market,  Clare,  Carnaby  — I 
don’t  know  where  all.  But  the  wages  was  — ha,  ha,  ha  ! was 
not  sufficient,  and  I never  could  suit  myself,  don’t  you  see  ? 
Some  of  the  queer  frequenters  of  the  house,  were  a little  sus- 
picious of  me  at  first,  and  I was  obliged  to  be  very  cautious 
indeed,  how  I communicated  with  Straw  or  Fendall.  Some- 
times, when  I went  out,  pretending  to  stop  and  look  into  the 
shop-windows,  and  just  casting  my  eye  round,  I used  to  see 
some  of  ’em  following  me  5 but,  being  perhaps  better  accus- 
tomed than  they  thought  for,  to  that  sort  of  thing,  I used  to 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


335 


lead  ’em  on  as  far  as  I thought  necessary  or  convenient  — 
sometimes  a long  way  — and  then  turn  sharp  round,  and  meet 
’em,  and  say,  ‘ Oh,  dear,  how  glad  I am  to  come  upon  you  so 
fortunate  ! This  London’s  such  a place,  I’m  blowed  if  I an’t 
lost  again ! ’ And  then  we’d  go  back  all  together,  to  the 
public-house,  and  — ha,  ha,  ha ! and  smoke  our  pipes,  don’t 
you  see  ? 

“ They  were  very  attentive  to  me,  I am  sure.  It  was  a 
common  thing,  while  I was  living  there,  for  some  of  ’em  to 
take  me  out  and  show  me  London.  They  showed  me  the 
Prisons  — showed  me  Newgate  — and  when  they  showed  me 
Newgate,  I stops  at  the  place  where  the  Porters  pitch  their 
loads,  and  says,  ‘ Oh  dear,  is  this  where  they  hang  the  men ! 
Oh  Lor!’  ‘That!’  they  says,  ‘what  a simple  cove  he  is! 
That  an’t  it ! ’ And  then,  they  pointed  out  which  was  it,  and 
I says  ‘ Lor  ? ’ and  they  says,  ‘Now  you’ll  know  it  agen,  won’t 
you  ? ’ And  I said  I thought  I should  if  I tried  hard  — and 
I assure  you  I kept  a sharp  look  out  for  the  City  Police  when 
we  were  out  in  this  way,  for  if  any  of  ’em  had  happened  to 
know  me,  and  had  spoke  to  me,  it  would  have  been  all  up 
in  a minute.  However,  by  good  luck  such  a thing  never 
happened,  and  all  went  on  quiet : though  the  difficulties  I had 
in  communicating  with  my  brother  officers  were  quite  extra- 
ordinary. 

“The  stolen  goods  that  were  brought  to  the  public-house 
by  the  Warehouse  Porters,  were  always  disposed  of  in  a back 
parlor.  For  a long  time,  I never  could  get  into  this  parlor, 
or  see  what  was  done  there.  As  I sat  smoking  my  pipe,  like 
an  innocent  young  chap,  by  the  tap-room  fire,  I’d  hear  some 
of  the  parties  to  the  robbery,  as  they  came  in  and  out,  say 
softly  to  the  landlord,  ‘ Who’s  that  ? What  does  he  do  here  ? ’ 
‘ Bless  your  soul,’  says  the  landlord,  ‘ He’s  only  a ’ — ha,  ha, 
ha  ! — ‘ he’s  only  a green  young  fellow  from  the  country,  as  is 
looking  for  a butcher’s  sitiwation.  Don’t  mind  him!’  So, 
in  course  of  time,  they  were  so  convinced  of  my  being  green 
and  got  to  be  so  accustomed  to  me,  that  I was  as  free  of  the 
parlor  as  any  of  ’em,  and  I have  seen  as  much  as  Seventy 
Pounds  worth  of  fine  lawn  sold  there,  in  one  night,  that  was 
stolen  from  a warehouse  in  Friday  Street.  After  the  sale  the 


336 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


buyers  always  stood  treat — hot  supper,  or  dinner,  or  what 
not  — and  they’d  say  on  those  occassions  ‘ Come  on,  Butcher  ! 
Put  your  best  leg  foremost,  young  ’un,  and  walk  into  it ! ’ 
Which  I used  to  do  — and  hear,  at  table,  all  manner  of  partic- 
ulars that  it  was  very  important  for  us  Detectives  to  know. 

“ This  went  on  for  ten  weeks.  I lived  in  the  public-house 
all  the  time,  and  never  was  out  of  the  Butcher’s  dress  — 
except  in  bed.  At  last,  when  I had  followed  seven  of  the 
thieves,  and  set  ’em  to  rights  — that’s  an  expression  of  ours, 
don’t  you  see,  by  which  I mean  to  say  that  I traced  ’em,  and 
found  out  where  the  robberies  were  done,  and  all  about  ’em  — • 
Straw,  and  Pendall,  and  I,  gave  one  another  the  office,  and  at 
a time  agreed  upon,  a descent  was  made  upon  the  public-house, 
and  the  apprehensions  effected.  One  of  the  first  things  the 
officers  did,  was  to  collar  me  — for  the  parties  to  the  robbery 
weren’t  to  suppose  yet,  that  I was  anything  but  a Butcher  — 
on  which  the  landlord  cries  out,  ‘ Don’t  take  him ,’  he  says, 
‘ whatever  you  do  ! He’s  only  a poor  young  chap  from  the 
country,  and  butter  wouldn’t  melt  in  his  mouth  ! ’ However, 
they — ha,  ha,  ha  ! — they  took  me,  and  pretended  to  search 
my  bedroom,  where  nothing  was  found  but  an  old  fiddle  belong- 
ing to  the  landlord,  that  had  got  there  somehow  or  another. 
But,  it  entirely  changed  the  landlord’s  opinion,  for  when  it 
was  produced,  he  says  6 My  fiddle ! The  Butcher’s  a pur- 
loiner  ! I give  him  into  custody  for  the  robbery  of  a musical 
instrument ! ’ 

“ The  man  that  had  stolen  the  goods  in  Friday  Street  was 
not  taken  yet.  He  had  told  me,  in  confidence,  that  he  had 
his  suspicions  there  was  something  wrong  (on  account  of  the 
City  Police  having  captured  one  of  the  party),  and  that  he 
was  going  to  make  himself  scarce.  I asked  him,  ‘ Where  do 
you  mean  to  go,  Mr.  Shepherdson  ? ’ ‘ Why,  Butcher,’  says 

he,  ‘the  Setting  Moon,  in  the  Commercial  Boad,  is  a snug 
house,  and  I shall  hang  out  there  for  a time.  I shall  call 
myself  Simpson,  which  appears  to  me  to  be  a modest  sort  of 
a name.  Perhaps  you’ll  give  us  a look  in,  Butcher  ?’  ‘Well,’ 
says  I,  ‘I  think  I will  give  you  a call’  — which  I fully  in- 
tended, don’t  you  see,  because,  of  course,  he  was  to  be  taken. 
I went  over  to  the  Setting  Moon  next  day,  with  a brother 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


337 


officer,  and  asked  at  the  bar  for  Simpson.  They  pointed  out 
his  room,  up  stairs.  As  we  were  going  up,  he  looks  down  over 
the  banisters,  and  calls  out,  ‘ Holloa,  Butcher ! is  that  you  ? ’ 
‘Yes,  it’s  me.  How  do  you  find  yourself  ? ’ ‘Bobbish/  he 
says  ; ‘ but  who’s  that  with  you  ? ’ ‘ It’s  only  a young  man, 

that’s  a friend  of  mine,’  I says.  ‘Come  along,  then,’  says  he; 
‘ any  friend  of  the  Butcher’s  is  as  welcome  as  the  Butcher  ! ’ 
So,  I made  my  friend  acquainted  with  him,  and  we  took  him 
into  custody. 

“You  have  no  idea,  sir,  what  a sight  it  was,  in  Court,  when 
they  first  knew  that  I wasn’t  a Butcher,  after  all ! I wasn’t 
produced  at  the  first  examination,  when  there  was  a remand ; 
but  I was  at  the  second.  And  when  I stepped  into  the  box, 
in  full  police  uniform,  and  the  whole  party  saw  how  they  had 
been  done,  actually  a groan  of  horror  and  dismay  proceeded 
from  ’em  in  the  dock ! 

“ At  the  Old  Bailey,  when  their  trials  came  on,  Mr.  Clarkson 
was  engaged  for  the  defence,  and  he  couldn't  make  out  how  it 
was,  about  the  Butcher.  He  thought,  all  along,  it  was  a real 
Butcher.  When  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  said,  ‘ I will 
now  call  before  you,  gentlemen,  the  Police-officer,’  meaning 
myself,  Mr.  Clarkson  says  ‘ Why  Police-officer  ? Why  more 
Police-officers  ? I don’t  want  Police.  We  have  had  a great 
deal  too  much  of  the  Police.  I want  the  Butcher ! ’ How- 
ever, sir,  he  had  the  Butcher  and  the  Police-officer,  both  in 
one.  Out  of  seven  prisoners  committed  for  trial,  five  were 
found  guilty,  and  some  of  ’em  were  transported.  The  respec- 
able  firm  at  the  West  End  got  a term  of  imprisonment;  and 
that’s  the  Butcher’s  Story  ! ” 

The  story  done,  the  chuckle-headed  Butcher  again  resolved 
himself  into  the  smooth-faced  Detective.  But,  he  was  so 
extremely  tickled  by  their  having  taken  him  about,  when  he 
was  that  Dragon  in  disguise,  to  show  him  London,  that  he 
could  not  help  reverting  to  that  point  in  his  narrative ; and 
gently  repeating  with  the  Butcher  snigger,  “ ‘ Oh,  dear,’  I says, 
‘ is  that  where  they  hang  the  men  ? Oh,  Lor  ! ’ ‘ That ! 9 says 
they.  ‘ What  a simple  cove  he  is  ! ’ ” 

It  now  being  late,  and  the  party  very  modest  in  their  fear 
of  being  too  diffuse,  there  were  some  tokens  of  separation ; 
vol.  n — 22 


338 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE. 


when  Sergeant  Dornton,  the  soldierly-looking  man,  said,  look- 
ing ronnd  him  with  a smile : 

“Before  we  break  up,  Sir,  perhaps  you  might  have  some 
amusement  in  hearing  of  the  Adventures  of  a Carpet  Bag. 
They  are  very  short ; and,  I think,  curious.” 

We  welcomed  the  Carpet  Bag,  as  cordially  as  Mr.  Shep- 
herdson  welcomed  the  false  Butcher  at  the  Setting  Moon. 
Sergeant  Dornton  proceeded. 

“In  1847,  I was  despatched  to  Chatham,  in  search  of  one 
Mesheck,  a Jew.  He  had  been  carrying  on,  pretty  heavily, 
in  the  bill-stealing  way,  getting  acceptances  from  young  men 
of  good  connections  (in  the  army  chiefly),  on  pretence  of  dis- 
count, and  bolting  with  the  same. 

“Mesheck  was  off,  before  I got  to  Chatham.  All  I could 
learn  about  him  was,  that  he  had  gone,  probably  to  London, 
and  had  with  him  — a Carpet  Bag. 

“I  came  back  to  town,  by  the  last  train  from  Blackwall, 
and  made  inquiries  concerning  a J ew  passenger  with  — a 
Carpet  Bag. 

“The  office  was  shut  up,  it  being  the  last  train.  There 
were  only  two  or  three  porters  left.  Looking  after  a Jew  with 
a Carpet  Bag,  on  the  Blackwall  Bailway,  which  was  then  the 
high  road  to  a great  Military  Depot,  was  worse  than  looking 
after  a needle  in  a hayrick.  But  it  happened  that  one  of  these 
porters  had  carried,  for  a certain  J ew,  to  a certain  public-house, 
a certain  — Carpet  Bag. 

“I  went  to  the  public-house,  but  the  Jew  had  only  left  his 
luggage  there  for  a few  hours,  and  had  called  for  it  in  a cab, 
and  taken  it  away.  I put  such  questions  there,  and  to  the 
porter,  as  I thought  prudent,  and  got  at  this  description  of 
— the  Carpet  Bag. 

“ It  was  a bag  which  had,  on  one  side  of  it,  worked  in 
worsted,  a green  parrot  on  a stand.  A green  parrot  on  a stand 
was  the  means  by  which  to  identify  that  — Carpet  Bag. 

“ I traced  Mesheck,  by  means  of  this  green  parrot  on  a stand, 
to  Cheltenham,  to  Birmingham,  to  Liverpool,  to  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  At  Liverpool  he  was  too  many  for  me.  He  had  gone 
to  the  United  States,  and  I gave  up  all  thoughts  of  Mesheck, 
and  likewise  his  — Carpet  Bag. 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


339 


“ Many  months  afterwards  — near  a year  afterwards  — there 
was  a bank  in  Ireland  robbed  of  seven  thousand  pounds,  by  a 
person  of  the  name  of  Doctor  Dundey,  who  escaped  to  America ; 
from  which  country  some  of  the  stolen  notes  came  home.  He 
was  supposed  to  have  bought  a farm  in  New  Jersey.  Under 
proper  management,  that  estate  could  be  seized  and  sold,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  parties  he  had  defrauded.  I was  sent  off  to 
America  for  this  purpose. 

“ I landed  at  Boston.  I went  on  to  New  York.  I found 
that  he  had  lately  changed  New  York  paper-money  for  New 
Jersey  paper-money,  and  had  banked  cash  in  New  Brunswick. 
To  take  this  Doctor  Dundey,  it  was  necessary  to  entrap  him 
into  the  State  of  New  York,  which  required  a deal  of  artifice 
and  trouble.  At  one  time,  he  couldn’t  be  drawn  into  an 
appointment.  At  another  time,  he  appointed  to  come  to  meet 
me,  and  a New  York  officer,  on  a pretext  I made ; and  then 
his  children  had  the  measles.  At  last  he  came,  per  steamboat, 
and  I took  him,  and  lodged  him  in  a New  York  prison  called 
the  Tombs  ; which  I dare  say  you  know,  sir  ? ” 

Editorial  acknowledgment  to  that  effect. 

“ I went  to  the  Tombs,  on  the  morning  after  his  capture,  to 
attend  the  examination  before  the  magistrate.  I was  passing 
through  the  magistrate’s  private  room,  when,  happening  to 
look  round  me  to  take  notice  of  the  place,  as  we  generally 
have  a habit  of  doing,  I clapped  my  eyes,  in  one  corner,  on  a 
— Carpet  Bag. 

“ What  did  I see  upon  that  Carpet  Bag,  if  you’ll  believe  me, 
but  a green  parrot  on  a stand,  as  large  as  life  ? 

“‘That  Carpet  Bag,  with  the  representation  of  a green 
parrot  on  a stand,’  said  I,  ‘belongs  to  an  English  Jew,  named 
Aaron  Mesheck,  and  to  no  other  man,  alive  or  dead ! ’ 

“I  give  you  my  word  the  New  York  Police  officers  were 
doubled  up  with  surprise. 

“ ‘ How  do  you  ever  come  to  know  that  ? ’ said  they. 

“ ‘ I think  I ought  to  know  that  green  parrot  by  this  time,’ 
said  I ; ‘ for  I have  had  as  pretty  a dance  after  that  bird,  at 
home,  as  ever  I had,  in  all  my  life ! ’” 

“ And  was  it  Mesheck’s  ? ” we  submissively  inquired. 


340 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


“Was  it.  sir?  Of  course  it  was!  He  was  in  custody  for 
another  offence,  in  that  very  identical  Tombs,  at  that  very 
identical  time.  And,  more  than  that ! Some  memoranda, 
relating  to  the  fraud  for  which  I had  vainly  endeavored  to 
take  him,  were  found  to  be,  at  that  moment,  lying  in  that  very 
same  individual  — Carpet  Bag  ! ” 

Such  are  the  curious  coincidences  and  such  is  the  peculiar 
ability,  always  sharpening  and  being  improved  by  practice, 
and  always  adapting  itself  to  every  variety  of  circumstances, 
and  opposing  itself  to  every  new  device  that  perverted  inge- 
nuity can  invent,  for  which  this  important  social  branch  of  the 
public  service  is  remarkable ! For  ever  on  the  watch,  with 
their  wits  stretched  to  the  utmost,  these  officers  have,  from 
day  to  day  and  year  to  year,  to  set  themselves  against  every 
novelty  of  trickery  and  dexterity  that  the  combined  imagina- 
tions of  all  the  lawless  rascals  in  England  can  devise,  and  to 
keep  pace  with  every  such  invention  that  comes  out.  In  the 
Courts  of  Justice,  the  materials  of  thousands  of  such  stories 
as  we  have  narrated  — often  elevated  into  the  marvellous  and 
romantic,  by  the  circumstances  of  the  case  — are  dryly  com- 
pressed into  the  set  phrase,  “ in  consequence  of  information  I 
received,  I did  so  and  so.”  Suspicion  was  to  be  directed,  by 
careful  inference  and  deduction,  upon  the  right  person ; the 
right  person  was  to  be  taken,  wherever  he  had  gone,  or 
whatever  he  was  doing,  to  avoid  detection : he  is  taken ; there 
he  is  at  the  bar;  that  is  enough.  From  information  I,  the 
officer,  received,  I did  it;  and,  according  to  the  custom  in 
these  cases,  I say  no  more. 

These  games  of  chess,  played  with  live  pieces,  are  played 
before  small  audiences,  and  are  chronicled  nowhere.  The 
interest  of  the  game  supports  the  player.  Its  results  are 
enough  for  Justice.  To  compare  great  things  with  small, 
suppose  Leverrier  or  Adams  informing  the  public  that  from 
information  he  had  received  he  had  discovered  a new  planet ; 
or  Columbus  informing  the  public  of  his  day  that  from 
information  he  had  received  he  had  discovered  a new  conti- 
nent ; so  the  Detectives  inform  it  that  they  have  discovered  a 
new  fraud  or  an  old  offender,  and  the  process  is  unknown. 


THE  DETECTIVE  POLICE . 


341 


Thus,  at  midnight,  closed  the  proceedings  of  our  curious 
and  interesting  party.  But  one  other  circumstance  finally 
wound  up  the  evening,  after  our  Detective  guests  had  left 
us.  One  of  the  sharpest  among  them,  and  the  officer  best 
acquainted  with  the  Swell  Mob,  had  his  pocket  picked,  going 
home  ! 


THREE  “ DETECTIVE  ” ANECDOTES. 


I.— THE  PAIR  OE  GLOVES. 

“It’s  a singler  story,  Sir/’  said  Inspector  Wield,  of  the 
Detective  Police,  who,  in  company  with  Sergeants  Dornton  and 
Mith,  paid  ns  another  twilight  visit,  one  July  evening;  “and 
I’ve  been  thinking  you  might  like  to  know  it. 

“It’s  concerning  the  murder  of  the  young  woman,  Eliza 
Grimwood,  some  years  ago,  over  in  the  Waterloo  Road.  She 
was  commonly  called  The  Countess,  because  of  her  handsome 
appearance  and  her  proud  way  of  carrying  of  herself;  and 
when  I saw  the  poor  Countess  (I  had  known  her  well  to  speak 
to),  lying  dead,  with  her  throat  cut,  on  the  floor  of  her  bed- 
room, you’ll  believe  me  that  a variety  of  reflections  calculated 
to  make  a man  rather  low  in  his  spirits,  came  into  my  head. 

“That’s  neither  here  nor  there.  I went  to  the  house  the 
morning  after  the  murder,  and  examined  the  body,  and  made 
a general  observation  of  the  bedroom  where  it  was.  Turning 
down  the  pillow  of  the  bed  with  my  hand,  I found,  under- 
neath it,  a pair  of  gloves.  A pair  of  gentleman’s  dress  gloves, 
very  dirty ; and  inside  the  lining,  the  letters  Tn,  and  a cross. 

“ Well,  Sir,  I took  them  gloves  away,  and  I showed  ’em  to 
the  magistrate,  over  at  Union  Hall,  before  whom  the  case  was. 
He  says,  ‘ Wield,’  he  says,  f there’s  no  doubt  this  is  a discovery 
that  may  lead  to  something  very  important ; and  what  you 
have  got  to  do,  Wield,  is,  to  find  out  the  owner  of  these  gloves.’ 

“ I was  of  the  same  opinion,  of  course,  and  I went  at  it  im- 
mediately. I looked  at  the  gloves  pretty  narrowly,  and  it  was 
my  opinion  that  they  had  been  cleaned.  There  was  a smell  of 
sulphur  and  rosin  about  ’em,  you  know,  which  cleaned  gloves 
usually  have,  more  or  less.  I took  ’em  over  to  a friend  of 
mine  at  Kennington,  who  was  in  that  line,  and  I put  it  to  him. 

342 


THREE  “ DETECTIVE ” ANECDOTES. 


343 


‘ Wliat  do  you  say  now  ? Have  these  gloves  been  cleaned  ? * 
‘ These  gloves  have  been  cleaned/  says  he.  ‘ Have  you  any 
idea  who  cleaned  them  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ Not  at  all/  says  he  ; ‘ I’ve 
a very  distinct  idea  who  didn’t  clean  ’em,  and  that’s  myself. 
But  I’ll  tell  you  what,  Wield,  there  ain’t  above  eight  or  nine 
reg’lar  glove  cleaners  in  London/  — there  were  not,  at  that 
time,  it  seems  — ‘ and  I think  I can  give  you  their  addresses, 
and  you  may  find  out,  by  that  means,  who  did  clean  ’em.’ 
Accordingly,  he.  gave  me  the  directions,  and  I went  here,  and 
went  I there,  and  I looked  up  this  man,  and  I looked  up  that 
man ; but,  though  they  all  agreed  that  the  gloves  had  been 
cleaned,  I couldn’t  find  the  man,  woman,  or  child,  that  had 
cleaned  that  aforesaid  pair  of  gloves. 

“ What  with  this  person  not  being  at  home,  and  that  person 
being  expected  home  in  the  afternoon,  and  so  forth,  the  inquiry 
took  me  three  days.  On  the  evening  of  the  third  day,  coming 
over  Waterloo  Bridge  from  the  Surrey  side  of  the  river,  quite 
beat,  and  very  much  vexed  and  disappointed,  I thought  I’d 
have  a shilling’s  worth  of  entertainment  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre 
to  freshen  myself  up.  So  I went  into  the  Pit,  at  half-price, 
and  I sat  myself  down  next  to  a very  quiet,  modest  sort  of 
young  man.  Seeing  I was  a stranger  (which  I thought  it  just 
as  well  to  appear  to  be)  he  told  me  the  names  of  the  actors  on 
the  stage,  and  we  got  into  conversation.  When  the  play  was 
over,  we  came  out  together,  and  I said,  ‘ We’ve  been  very  com- 
panionable and  agreeable,  and  perhaps  you  wouldn’t  object  to 
a drain?’  ‘Well,  you’re  very  good/  says  he;  ‘I  shouldn’t 
object  to  a drain.’  Accordingly,  we  went  to  a public  house, 
near  the  Theatre,  sat  ourselves  down  in  a quiet  room  up  stairs 
on  the  first  floor,  and  called  for  a pint  of  half-and-half,  a-piece, 
and  a pipe. 

“Well,  Sir,  we  put  our  pipes  aboard,  and  we  drank  our  half- 
and-half,  and  sat  a talking,  very  sociably,  when  the  young  man 
says,  ‘ You  must  excuse  me  stopping  very  long/  he  says, 
‘because  I’m  forced  to  go  home  in  good  time.  I must  be  at 
work  all  night.’  ‘ At  work  all  night  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ You  ain’t  a 
Baker  ? ’ ‘ No/  he  says,  laughing,  ‘ I ain’t  a baker.’  ‘ I thought 

not/  says  I,  ‘you  haven’t  the  looks  of  a baker.’  ‘ No/  says  he, 
‘I’m  a glove-cleaner/ 


344 


THREE  “ DETECTIVE ” ANECDOTES. 


“ I never  was  more  astonished  in  my  life,  than  when  I 
heard  them  words  come  out  of  his  lips.  ‘You’re  a glove- 
cleaner,  are  you  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ Yes/  he  says,  ‘ I am.’  4 Then, 
perhaps,’  says  I,  taking  the  gloves  out  of  my  pocket,  ‘you  can 
tell  me  who  cleaned  this  pair  of  gloves  ? It’s  a rum  story,’  I 
says.  ‘ I was  dining  over  at  Lambeth,  the  other  day,  at  a 
free-and-easy — quite  promiscuous  — with  a public  company  — 
when  some  gentleman,  he  left  these  gloves  behind  him ! 
Another  gentleman  and  me,  you  see,  we  laid  a wager  of  a 
sovereign,  that  I wouldn’t  find  out  who  they  belonged  to. 
I’ve  spent  as  much  as  seven  shillings  already,  in  trying  to 
discover;  but,  if  you  could  help  me,  I’d  stand  another  seven 
and  welcome.  You  see  there’s  Tr  and  a cross,  inside.’  ‘ I 
see,’  he  says.  ‘ Bless  you,  I know  these  gloves  very  well ! 
I’ve  seen  dozens  of  pairs  belonging  to  the  same  party.’  ‘No?’ 
says  I.  ‘Yes/  says  he.  ‘Then  you  know  who  cleaned  ’em  ?’ 
says  I.  ‘ Bather  so/  says  he.  ‘ My  father  cleaned  ’em.’ 

“ ‘Where  does  your  father  live  ? ’ says  I.  ‘Just  round  the 
corner/  says  the  young  man,  ‘ near  Exeter  Street,  here.  He’ll 
tell  you  who  they  belong  to,  directly.’  ‘ Would  you  come 
round  with  me  now  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ Certainly/  says  he,  ‘ but  you 
needn’t  tell  my  father  that  you  found  me  at  the  play,  you 
know,  because  he  mightn’t  like  it.’  ‘All  right!’  We  went 
round  to  the  place,  and  there  we  found  an  old  man  in  a white 
apron,  with  two  or  three  daughters,  all  rubbing  and  cleaning 
away  at  lots  of  gloves,  in  a front  parlor.  ‘Oh,  Father!’  says 
the  young  man,  ‘ here’s  a person  been  and  made  a bet  about 
the  ownership  of  a pair  of  gloves,  and  I’ve  told  him  you  can 
settle  it.’  ‘ Good  evening,  Sir/  says  I to  the  old  gentleman. 
‘Here’s  the  gloves  your  son  speaks  of.  Letters  Tr,  you  see, 
and  a cross.’  ‘ Oh  yes/  he  says,  ‘ I know  these  gloves  very 
well ; I’ve  cleaned  dozens  of  pairs  of  ’em.  They  belong  to 
Mr.  Trinkle,  the  great  upholsterer  in  Cheapside.’  ‘Hid  you 
get  ’em  from  Mr.  Trinkle,  direct/  says  I,  ‘ if  you’ll  excuse  my 
asking  the  question?’  ‘Ho/  says  he;  ‘Mr.  Trinkle  always 
sends  ’em  to  Mr.  Phibbs’s,  the  haberdasher’s,  opposite  his  shop, 
and  the  haberdasher  sends  ’em  to  me.’  ‘Perhaps  you  wouldn’t 
object  to  a drain  ?’  says  I.  ‘Hot  in  the  least!’  says  he.  So 
I took  the  old  gentleman  out,  and  had  a little  more  talk 


THREE  “DETECTIVE”  ANECDOTES. 


345 


with  him  and  his  son,  over  a glass,  and  we  parted  ex-cellent 
friends. 

“ This  was  late  on  a Saturday  night.  First  thing  on  the 
Monday  morning,  I went  to  the  haberdasher’s  shop,  opposite 
Mr.  Trinkle’s,  the  great  upholsterer’s  in  Cheapside.  ‘ Mr. 
Phibbs  in  the  way  ? ’ ‘ My  name  is  Phibbs.’  ‘ Oh  ! I believe 

you  sent  this  pair  of  gloves  to  be  cleaned  ? ’ ‘ Yes,  I did,  for 

young  Mr.  Trinkle  over  the  way.  There  he  is,  in  the  shop  ! ’ 
‘ Oh ! that’s  him  in  the  shop,  is  it  ? Him  in  the  green  coat  ? ’ 
‘ The  same  individual.’  ‘Well,  Mr.  Phibbs,  this  is  an  un- 
pleasant affair ; but  the  fact  is,  I am  Inspector  Wield  of  the 
Detective  Police,  and  I found  these  gloves  under  the  pillow  of 
the  young  woman  that  was  murdered  the  other  day,  over  in 
the  Waterloo  Eoad  ? ’ ‘Good  Heaven!’  says  he.  ‘He’s  a 
most  respectable  young  man,  and  if  his  father  was  to  hear  of 
it,  it  would  be  the  ruin  of  him ! ’ ‘ I’m  very  sorry  for  it,’ 

says  I,  ‘ but  I must  take  him  into  custody.’  ‘ Good  Heaven  ! ’ 
says  Mr.  Phibbs,  again;  ‘can  nothing  be  done?’  ‘Nothing,’ 
says  I.  ‘ Will  you  allow  me  to  call  him  over  here,’  says  he, 
‘that  his  father  may  not  see  it  done?’  ‘I  don’t  object  to 
that,’  says  I ; ‘ but  unfortunately,  Mr.  Phibbs,  I can’t  allow  of 
any  communication  between  you.  If  any  was  attempted,  I 
should  have  to  interfere  directly.  Perhaps  you’ll  beckon  him 
over  here  ? ’ Mr.  Phibbs  went  to  the  door  and  beckoned,  and 
the  young  fellow  came  across  the  street  directly ; a smart, 
brisk  young  fellow. 

“‘Good  morning,  Sir,’  says  I.  ‘Good  morning,  Sir,’  says 
he.  ‘Would  you  allow  me  to  inquire,  Sir,’  says  I,  ‘if  you 
ever  had  any  acquaintance  with  a party  of  the  name  of 
Grimwood  ? ’ ‘ Grim  wood  ! Grim  wood  ! ’ says  he,  ‘ No  ! ’ 

‘You  know  the  Waterloo  Eoad?’  ‘Oh!  of  course  I know 
the  Waterloo  Eoad!’  ‘Happen  to  have  heard  of  a young 
woman  being  murdered  there  ? ’ ‘ Yes,  I read  it  in  the  paper, 

and  very  sorry  I was  to  read  it.’  ‘Here’s  a pair  of  gloves 
belonging  to  you,  that  I found  under  her  pillow  the  morning 
afterwards  ! ’ 

“ He  was  in  a dreadful  state,  Sir ; a dreadful  state  ! ‘ Mr. 

Wield,’  he  says,  ‘upon  my  solemn  oath  I never  was  there.  I 
never  so  much  as  saw  her,  to  my  knowledge,  in  my  life  ! ’ 


346 


THREE  “ DETECTIVE ” ANECDOTES. 


‘ I am  very  sorry/  says  I,  ‘ to  tell  you  the  truth ; I don’t 
think  you  are  the  murderer,  but  I must  take  you  to  Union 
Hall  in  a cab.  However,  I think  it’s  a case  of  that  sort, 
that,  at  present,  at  all  events,  the  magistrate  will  hear  it  in 
private.’ 

“ A private  examination  took  place,  and  then  it  came  out 
that  this  young  man  was  acquainted  with  a cousin  of  the 
unfortunate  Eliza  Grimwood’s,  and  that,  calling  to  see  this 
cousin  a day  or  two  before  the  murder,  he  left  these  gloves 
upon  the  table.  Who  should  come  in,  shortly  afterwards,  but 
Eliza  Grimwood ! c Whose  gloves  are  these  ? ’ she  says,  tak- 
ing ’em  up.  ‘ Those  are  Mr.  Trinkle’s  gloves,’  says  her  cousin. 
‘ Oh ! ’ says  she,  ‘ they  are  very  dirty,  and  of  no  use  to  him,  I 
am  sure.  I shall  take  ’em  away  for  my  girl  to  clean  the 
stoves  with.’  And  she  put  ’em  in  her  pocket.  The  girl  had 
used  ’em  to  clean  the  stoves,  and,  I have  no  doubt,  had  left  ’em 
lying  on  the  bed-room  mantel-piece,  or  on  the  drawers,  or 
somewhere  ; and  her  mistress,  looking  round  to  see  that  the 
room  was  tidy,  had  caught  ’em  up  and  put  ’em  under  the  pil- 
low where  I found  ’em. 

u That’s  the  story,  Sir.” 

II.  — THE  ARTFUL  TOUCH. 

“ One  of  the  most  beautiful  things  that  ever  was  done,  per- 
haps,” said  Inspector  Wield,  emphasizing  the  adjective,  as 
preparing  us  to  expect  dexterity  or  ingenuity  rather  than 
strong  interest,  “ was  a move  of  Sergeant  Witchem’s.  It  was 
a lovely  idea ! 

“ Witchem  and  me  were  down  at  Epsom  one  Derby  Day,  wait- 
ing at  the  station  for  the  Swell  Mob.  As  I mentioned,  when  we 
were  talking  about  these  things  before,  we  are  ready  at  the 
station  when  there’s  races,  or  an  Agricultural  Show,  or  a 
Chancellor  sworn  in  for  an  university,  or  Jenny  Lind,  or  any 
thing  of  that  sort ; and  as  the  Swell  Mob  come  down,  we 
send  ’em  back  again  by  the  next  train.  But  some  of  the 
Swell  Mob,  on  the  occasion  of  this  Derby  that  I refer  to,  so 
far  kiddied  us  as  to  hire  a horse  and  shay ; start  away  from 
London  by  Whitechapel,  and  miles  round ; come  into  Epsom 


THREE  “ DETECTIVE ” ANECDOTES. 


347 


from  the  opposite  direction ; and  go  to  work,  right  and  left, 
on  the  course,  while  we  were  waiting  for  ’em  at  the  Eail. 
That,  however,  ain’t  the  point  of  what  I’m  going  to  tell  you. 

“ While  Witchem  and  me  were  waiting  at  the  station,  there 
comes  up  one  Mr.  Tatt ; a gentleman  formerly  in  the  public 
line,  quite  an  amateur  Detective  in  his  way,  and  very  much 
respected.  ‘ Halloa,  Charley  Wield,’  he  says.  ‘What  are 
you  doing  here  ? On  the  look  out  for  some  of  your  old 
friends?’  ‘Yes,  the  old  move,  Mr.  Tatt.’  ‘Come  along,’  he 
says,  ‘you  and  Witchem,  and  have  a glass  of  sherry.’  ‘We 
can’t  stir  from  the  place,’  says  I,  ‘ till  the  next  train  comes  in ; 
but  after  that,  we  will  with  pleasure.’  Mr.  Tatt  waits,  and 
the  train  comes  in,  and  then  Witchem  and  me  go  off  with  him 
to  the  Hotel.  Mr.  Tatt  he’s  got  up  quite  regardless  of 
expense,  for  the  occasion;  and  in  his  shirt-front  there’s  a 
beautiful  diamond  prop,  cost  him  fifteen  or  twenty  pound  — a 
very  handsome  pin  indeed.  We  drink  our  sherry  at  the  bar, 
and  have  had  our  three  or  four  glasses,  when  Witchem  cries 
suddenly,  ‘ Look  out,  Mr.  Wield  ! stand  fast ! ’ and  a dash  is 
made  into  the  place  by  the  swell  mob  — four  of  ’em  — that 
have  come  down  as  I tell  you,  and  in  a moment  Mr.  Tatt’s 
prop  is  gone  ! Witchem,  he  cuts  ’em  off  at  the  door,  I lay  about 
me  as  hard  as  I can,  Mr,  Tatt  shows  fight  like  a good  ’un,  and 
there  we  are,  all  down  together,  heads  and  heels,  knocking 
about  on  the  floor  of  the  bar  — perhaps  you  never  see  such  a 
scene  of  confusion  ! However,  we  stick  to  our  men  (Mr.  Tatt 
being  as  good  as  any  officer),  and  we  take  ’em  all,  and  carry 
’em  off  to  the  station.  The  station’s  full  of  people,  who  have 
been  took  on  the  course ; and  it’s  a precious  piece  of  work  to 
get  ’em  secured.  However,  we  do  it  at  last,  and  we  search 
’em ; but  nothing’s  found  upon  ’em,  and  they’re  locked  up ; 
and  a pretty  state  of  heat  we  are  in  by  that  time,  I assure 
you! 

“ I was  very  blank  over  it,  myself,  to  think  that  the  prop 
had  been  passed  away ; and  I said  to  Witchem,  when  we  had 
set  ’em  to  rights,  and  were  cooling  ourselves  along  with  Mr. 
Tatt,  ‘ we  don’t  take  much  by  this  move,  anyway,  for  nothing’s 
found  upon  ’em,  and  it’s  only  the  braggadocia1  after  all.’ 
1 Three  months'  imprisonment  as  reputed  thieves. 


348 


THU  EE  “ DETECTIVE ” AiVF/C^OrjE'S. 


‘ What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Wield/  says  Witchein.  ‘ Here’s  the 
diamond  pin  ! ’ and  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  there  it  was,  safe 
and  sound ! ‘ Why,  in  the  name  of  wonder.’  says  me  and  Mr. 
Tatt,  in  astonishment,  ‘ how  did  you  come  by  that  ? ’ 6 I’ll  tell 

you  how  I come  by  it,’  says  he.  ‘ I saw  which  of  ’em  took  it ; 
and  when  we  were  all  down  on  the  floor  together,  knocking 
about,  I just  gave  him  a little  touch  on  the  back  of  his  hand, 
as  I knew  his  pal  would ; and  he  thought  it  was  his  pal ; and 
gave  it  me  ! ’ It  was  beautiful,  beau-ti-ful ! 

“ Even  that  was  hardly  the  best  of  the  case,  for  that  chap 
was  tried  at  the  Quarter  Sessions  at  Guildford.  You  know 
what  Quarter  Sessions  are,  sir.  Well,  if  you’ll  believe  me, 
while  them  slow  justices  were  looking  over  the  Acts  of  Par- 
liament, to  see  what  they  could  do  to  him,  I’m  blowed  if  he 
didn’t  cut  out  of  the  dock  before  their  faces ! He  cut  out  of 
the  dock,  sir,  then  and  there ; swam  across  a river ; and  got 
up  into  a tree  to  dry  himself.  In  the  tree  he  was  took  — an 
old  woman  having  seen  him  climb  up  — and  Witchem’s  artful 
touch  transported  him ! ” 


III.  — THE  SOFA. 

“What  young  men  will  do,  sometimes,  to  ruin  themselves 
and  break  their  friends’  hearts,”  said  Sergeant  Dornton,  “ it’s 
surprising  ! I had  a case  at  Saint  Blank’s  Hospital  which  was 
of  this  sort.  A bad  case,  indeed,  with  a bad  end  ! 

“The  Secretary,  and  the  House-Surgeon,  and  the  Treasurer, 
of  Saint  Blank’s  Hospital,  came  to  Scotland  Yard  to  give 
information  of  numerous  robberies  having  been  committed  on 
the  students.  The  students  could  leave  nothing  in  the  pockets 
of  their  great-coats,  while  the  great-coats  were  hanging  at  the 
hospital,  but  it  was  almost  certain  to  be  stolen.  Property  of 
various  descriptions  was  constantly  being  lost ; and  the  gen- 
tlemen were  naturally  uneasy  about  it,  and  anxious,  for  the 
credit  of  the  institution,  that  the  thief  or  thieves  should  be 
discovered.  The  case  was  entrusted  to  me,  and  I went  to  the 
hospital. 

“‘Now,  gentlemen,’  said  I,  after  we  had  talked  it  over;  ‘I 
understand  this  property  is  usually  lost  from  one  room,’ 


ANECDOTES. 


THREE  “ DETECTIVE ” 


349 


“ 4 Yes/  they  said.  ‘ It  was.’ 

“‘I  should  wish,  if  you  please/  said  I,  ‘ to  see  the  room.’ 

“It  was  a good-sized  bare  room  down  stairs,  with  a few 
tables  and  forms  in  it,  and  a row  of  pegs,  all  round,  for  hats 
and  coats. 

“ ‘Next,  gentlemen/  said  I,  ‘do  you  suspect  anybody  ? * 

“ ‘ Yes/  they  said.  They  did  suspect  somebody.  They  were 
sorry  to  say,  they  suspected  one  of  the  porters. 

“ ‘ I should  like/  said  I,  ‘ to  have  that  man  pointed  out  to 
me,  and  to  have  a little  time  to  look  after  him.’ 

“He  was  pointed  out,  and  I looked  after  him,  and  then  I 
went  back  to  the  hospital,  and  said,  ‘Now,  gentlemen,  it’s 
not  the  porter.  He’s,  unfortunately  for  himself,  a little  too 
fond  of  drink,  but  he’s  nothing  worse.  My  suspicion  is,  that 
these  robberies  are  committed  by  one  of  the  students ; and  if 
you’ll  put  me  a sofa  into  that  room  where  the  pegs  are  — as 
there’s  no  closet  — I think  I shall  be  able  to  detect  the  thief. 
I wish  the  sofa,  if  you  please,  to  be  covered  with  chintz,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  so  that  I may  lie  on  my  chest,  under- 
neath it,  without  being  seen.’ 

“The  sofa  was  provided,  and  next  day  at  eleven  o’clock, 
before  any  of  the  students  came,  I went  there,  with  those  gen- 
tlemen, to  get  underneath  it.  It  turned  out  to  be  one  of  those 
old-fashioned  sofas  with  a great  cross-beam  at  the  bottom,  that 
would  have  broken  my  back  in  no  time  if  I could  ever  have 
got  below  it.  We  had  quite  a job  to  break  all  this  away  in 
the  time ; however,  I fell  to  work,  and  they  fell  to  work,  and 
we  broke  it  out,  and  made  a clear  place  for  me.  I got  under 
the  sofa,  lay  down  on  my  chest,  took  out  my  knife,  and  made 
a convenient  hole  in  the  chintz  to  look  through.  It  was  then 
settled  between  me  and  the  gentlemen  that  when  the  students 
were  all  up  in  the  wards,  one  of  the  gentlemen  should  come 
in,  and  hang  up  a great-coat  on  one  of  the  pegs.  And  that  that 
great-coat  should  have,  in  one  of  the  pockets,  a pocket-book 
containing  marked  money. 

“ After  I had  been  there  some  time,  the  students  began  to 
drop  into  the  room,  by  ones,  and  twos,  and  threes,  and  to  talk 
about  all  sorts  of  things,  little  thinking  there  was  anybody 
under  the  sofa  — and  then  to  go  up  stairs.  At  last  there  came 


350 


THREE  “ DETECTIVE ” ANECDOTES. 


in  one  who  remained  until  lie  was  alone  in  the  room  by  him- 
self. A tallish,  good-looking  young  man  of  one  or  two  and 
twenty,  with  a light  whisker.  He  went  to  a particular  hat- 
peg,  took  off  a good  hat  that  was  hanging  there,  tried  it  on, 
hung  his  own  hat  in  its  place,  and  hung  that  hat  on  another 
peg,  nearly  opposite  to  me.  I then  felt  quite  certain  that  he 
was  the  thief,  and  would  come  back  by  and  by. 

“When  they  were  all  up  stairs,  the  gentlemen  came  in  with 
the  great-coat.  I showed  him  where  to  hang  it,  so  that  I 
might  have  a good  view  of  it ; and  he  went  away ; and  I lay 
under  the  sofa  on  my  chest,  for  a couple  of  hours  or  so, 
waiting. 

“At  last,  the  same  young  man  came  down.  He  walked 
across  the  room,  whistling  — stopped  and  listened  — took 
another  walk  and  whistled  — stopped  again,  and  listened  — 
then  began  to  go  regularly  round  the  pegs,  feeling  in  the  pock- 
ets of  all  the  coats.  When  he  came  to  the  great-coat,  and  felt 
the  pocket-book,  he  was  so  eager  and  so  hurried  that  he  broke 
the  strap  in  tearing  it  open.  As  he  began  to  put  the  money  in 
his  pocket,  I crawled  out  from  under  the  sofa,  and  his  eyes 
met  mine. 

“ My  face,  as  you  may  perceive,  is  brown  now,  but  it  was 
pale  at  that  time,  my  health  not  being  good ; and  looked  as 
long  as  a horse’s.  Besides  which,  there  was  a great  draught 
of  air  from  the  door,  underneath  the  sofa,  and  I had  tied  a 
handkerchief  round  my  head ; so  what  I looked  like,  altogether, 
I don’t  know.  He  turned  blue  — literally  blue  — when  he  saw 
me  crawling  out,  and  I couldn’t  feel  surprised  at  it. 

“ ‘ I am  an  officer  of  the  Detective  Police,’  said  I,  ( and  have 
been  lying  here,  since  you  first  came  in  this  morning.  I regret, 
for  the  sake  of  yourself  and  your  friends,  that  you  should  have 
done  what  you  have;  but  this  case  is  complete.  You  have  the 
pocket-book  in  your  hand  and  the  money  upon  you ; and  I 
must  take  you  into  custody ! ’ 

“ It  was  impossible  to  make  out  any  case  in  his  behalf,  and 
on  his  trial  he  pleaded  guilty.  How  or  when  he  got  the  means 
I don’t  know ; but  while  he  was  awaiting  his  sentence,  he  poi- 
soned himself  in  Newgate.” 


“detective”  story — “the  sofa.” 


THREE  “ DETECTIVE ” ^JV#CZ>OmS. 


351 


We  inquired  of  this  officer,  on  the  conclusion  of  the  fore- 
going anecdote,  whether  the  time  appeared  long,  or  short,  when 
he  lay  in  that  constrained  position  under  the  sofa  ? 

“ Why,  you  see,  sir,”  he  replied,  “ if  he  hadn’t  come  in,  the 
first  time,  and  I had  not  been  quite  sure  he  was  the  thief,  and 
would  return,  the  time  would  have  seemed  long.  But,  as  it 
was,  I being  dead-certain  of  my  man,  the  time  seemed  pretty 
short.” 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


How  goes  the  night  ? Saint  Giles’s  clock  is  striking  nine. 
The  weather  is  dnll  and  wet,  and  the  long  lines  of  street  lamps 
are  blurred,  as  if  we  saw  them  through  tears.  A damp  wind 
blows  and  rakes  the  pieman’s  fire  out,  when  he  opens  the  door 
of  his  little  furnace,  carrying  away  an  eddy  of  sparks. 

Saint  Giles’s  clock  strikes  nine.  We  are  punctual.  Where 
is  Inspector  Field  ? Assistant  Commissioner  of  Police  is  al- 
ready here,  enwrapped  in  oil-skin  cloak,  and  standing  in  the 
shadow  of  Saint  Giles’s  steeple.  Detective  Sergeant*  weary  of 
speaking  French  all  day  to  foreigners  unpacking  at  the  Great 
Exhibition,  is  already  here.  Where  is  Inspector  Field  ? 

Inspector  Field  is,  to-night,  the  guardian  genius  of  the  Brit- 
ish Museum.  He  is  bringing  his  shrewd  eye  to  bear  on  every 
corner  of  its  solitary  galleries,  before  he  reports  “ all  right.” 
Suspicious  of  the  Elgin  marbles,  and  not  to  be  done  by  cat- 
faced Egyptian  giants  with  their  hands  upon  their  knees, 
Inspector  Field,  sagacious,  vigilant,  lamp  in  hand,  throwing 
monstrous  shadows  on  the  walls  and  ceilings,  passes  through 
the  spacious  rooms.  If  a mummy  trembled  in  an  atom  of  its 
dusty  covering,  Inspector  Field  would  say,  “ Come  out  of  that, 
Tom  Green.  I know  you  ! ” If  the  smallest  “ Gonoph  ” 
about  town  were  crouching  at  the  bottom  of  a classic  bath, 
Inspector  Field  would  nose  him  with  a finer  scent  than  the 
ogre’s,  when  adventurous  Jack  lay  trembling  in  his  kitchen 
copper.  But  all  is  quiet,  and  Inspector  Field  goes  warily  on, 
making  little  outward  show  of  attending  to  anything  in  partic- 
ular, just  recognizing  the  Ichthyosaurus  as  a familiar  acquaint- 
ance, and  wondering,  perhaps,  how  the  detectives  did  it  in  the 
days  before  the  Flood. 

Will  Inspector  Field  be  long  about  this  work  ? He  may  be 
half-an-hour  longer.  He  sends  his  compliments  by  Police 

352 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


353 


Constable,  and  proposes  that  we  meet  at  Saint  Giles’s  Station 
House,  across  the  road.  Good.  It  were  as  well  to  stand  by 
the  fire,  there,  as  in  the  shadow  of  Saint  Giles’s  steeple. 

Anything  doing  here  to-night  ? Hot  much.  We  are  very 
quiet.  A lost  boy,  extremely  calm  and  small,  sitting  by  the 
fire,  whom  we  now  confide  to  a constable  to  take  home,  for  the 
child  says  that  if  you  show  him  Hewgate  Street,  he  can  show 
you  where  he  lives  — a raving  drunken  woman  in  the  cells, 
who  has  screeched  her  voice  away,  and  has  hardly  power 
enough  left  to  declare,  even  with  the  passionate  help  of  her 
feet  and  arms,  that  she  is  the  daughter  of  a British  officer, 
and,  strike  her  blind  and  dead,  but  she’ll  write  a letter  to  the 
Queen  ! but  who  is  soothed  with  a drink  of  water  — in  another 
cell,  a quiet  woman  with  a child  at  her  breast,  for  begging  — 
in  another,  her  husband  in  a smock-frock,  with  a basket  of 
watercresses  — in  another  a pickpocket  — in  another,  a meek 
tremulous  old  pauper  man  who  has  been  out  for  a holiday 
“ and  has  took  but  a little  drop,  but  it  has  overcome  him  arter 
so  many  months  in  the  house  ” — and  that’s  all  as  yet.  Pres- 
ently, a sensation  at  the  Station  House  door.  Mr.  Field, 
gentlemen ! 

Inspector  Field  comes  in,  wiping  his  forehead,  for  he  is  of 
a burly  figure,  and  has  come  fast  from  the  ores  and  metals  of 
the  deep  mines  of  the  earth,  and  from  the  Parrot  Gods  of  the 
South  Sea  Islands,  and  from  the  birds  and  beetles  of  the  trop- 
ics, and  from  the  Arts  of  Greece  and  Eome,  and  from  the 
Sculptures  of  Hineveh,  and  from  the  traces  of  an  elder  world, 
when  these  were  not.  Is  Eogers  ready?  Eogers  is  ready, 
strapped  and  great-coated,  with  a flaming  eye  in  the  middle  of 
his  waist,  like  a deformed  Cyclops.  Lead  on,  Eogers,  to  Eats’ 
Castle ! 

How  many  people  may  there  be  in  London,  who,  if  we  had 
brought  them  deviously  and  blindfold,  to  this  street,  fifty 
paces  from  the  Station  House,  and  within  call  of  Saint  Giles’s 
church,  would  know  it  for  a not  remote  part  of  the  city  in 
which  their  lives  are  passed  ? How  many,  who  amidst  this 
compound  of  sickening  smells,  these  heaps  of  filth,  these 
tumbling  houses,  with  all  their  vile  contents,  animate,  and 
inanimate,  slimily  overflowing  into  the  black  road,  would  be- 


vol.  n — 23 


354 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


lieve  that  they  breathe  this  air  ? How  much  Red  Tape  may 
there  be,  that  could  look  round  on  the  faces  which  now  hem 
us  in  — for  our  appearance  here  has  caused  a rush  from  all 
points  to  a common  centre  — the  lowering  foreheads,  the  sal- 
low cheeks,  the  brutal  eyes,  the  matted  hair,  the  infected,  ver- 
min-haunted heaps  of  rags  — and  say  “ I have  thought  of  this. 
I have  not  dismissed  the  thing.  I have  neither  blustered  it 
away,  nor  frozen  it  away,  nor  tied  it  up  and  put  it  away,  nor 
smoothly  said  pooh,  pooh ! to  it,  when  it  has  been  shown  to  me  ” ? 

This  is  not  what  Rogers  wants  to  know,  however.  What 
Rogers  wants  to  know,  is,  whether  you  will  clear  the  way 
here,  some  of  you,  or  whether  you  won’t ; because  if  you  don’t 
do  it  right  on  end,  he’ll  lock  you  up  ! What ! You  are  there, 
are  you,  Bob  Miles  ? You  haven’t  had  enough  of  it  yet, 
haven’t  you?  You  want  three  months  more,  do  you?  Come 
away  from  that  gentleman ! What  are  you  creeping  round 
there  for  ? 

“ What  am  I a doing,  thinn,  Mr.  Rogers  ? ” says  Bob  Miles, 
appearing,  villanous,  at  the  end  of  a lane  of  light,  made  by 
the  lantern. 

“ I’ll  let  you  know  pretty  quick,  if  you  don’t  hook  it.  Will 
you  hook  it  ? ” 

A sycophantic  murmur  rises  from  the  crowd.  “Hook  it, 
Bob,  when  Mr.  Rogers  and  Mr.  Field  tells  you  ! 'Why  don’t 
you  hook  it,  when  you  are  told  to  ? ” 

The  most  importunate  of  the  voices  strikes  familiarly  on  Mr. 
Rogers’s  ear.  He  suddenly  turns  his  lantern  on  the  owner. 

“ What ! You  are  there,  are  you,  Mister  Click  ? You  hook 
it  too  — come  ? ” 

“ What  for  ? ” says  Mr.  Click,  discomfited. 

“You  hook  it,  will  you ! ” says  Mr.  Rogers  with  stern  emphasis. 

Both  Click  and  Miles  do  “ hook  it,”  without  another  word, 
or,  in  plainer  English,  sneak  away. 

“ Close  up  there,  my  men  ! ” says  Inspector  Field  to  two 
constables  on  duty  who  have  followed.  “ Keep  together,  gen- 
tlemen ; we  are  going  down  here.  Heads  ! ” 

Saint  Giles’s  church  strikes  half-past  ten.  We  stoop  low, 
and  creep  down  a precipitious  flight  of  steps  into  a dark  close 
cellar.  There  is  a fire.  There  is  a long  deal  table.  There 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


855 


are  benches.  The  cellar  is  full  of  company,  chiefly  very  young 
men  in  various  conditions  of  dirt  and  raggedness.  Some  are 
eating  supper.  There  are  no  girls  or  women  present.  Wel- 
come to  Eats’  Castle,  gentlemen,  and  to  this  company  of  noted 
thieves ! 

“ Well,  my  lads  ! How  are  you,  my  lads  ? What  have  you 
been  doing  to-day  ? Here’s  some  company  come  to  see  you, 
my  lads ! There’s  a plate  of  beefsteak,  Sir,  for  the  supper  of 
a fine  young  man ! And  there’s  a mouth  for  a steak,  Sir  ! 
Why,  I should  be  too  proud  of  such  a mouth  as  that,  if  I had 
it  myself ! Stand  up  and  show  it,  Sir ! Take  off  your  cap. 
There’s  a fine  young  man  for  a nice  little  party,  Sir  ! An’t 
he?” 

Inspector  Field  is  the  bustling  speaker.  Inspector  Field’s 
eye  is  the  roving  eye  that  searches  every  corner  of  the  cellar 
as  he  talks.  Inspector  Field’s  hand  is  the  well-known  hand 
that  has  collared  half  the  people  here,  and  motioned  their 
brothers,  sisters,  fathers,  mothers,  male  and  female  friends, 
inexorably  to  Hew  South  Wales.  Yet  Inspector  Field  stands 
in  this  den,  the  Sultan  of  the  place.  Every  thief  here  cowers 
before  him,  like  a schoolboy  before  his  schoolmaster.  All 
watch  him,  all  answer  when  addressed,  all  laugh  at  his  jokes, 
all  seek  to  propitiate  him.  This  cellar-company  alone  — to 
say  nothing  of  the  crowd  surrounding  the  entrance  from  the 
street  above,  and  making  the  steps  shine  with  eyes  — is  strong 
enough  to  murder  us  all,  and  willing  enough  to  do  it ; but,  let 
Inspector  Field  have  a mind  to  pick  out  one  thief  here,  and 
take  him ; let  him  produce  that  ghostly  truncheon  from  his 
pocket,  and  say,  with  his  business  air,  “ My  lad,  I want  you ! ” 
and  all  Eats’  Castle  shall  be  stricken  with  paralysis,  and  not 
a finger  move  against  him,  as  he  fits  the  handcuffs  on ! 

Where’s  the  Earl  of  Warwick  ? — Here  he  is,  Mr.  Field ! 
Here’s  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  Mr.  Field ! — 0 there  you  are, 
my  Lord.  Come  for’ard.  There’s  a chest,  Sir,  not  to  have  a 
clean  shirt  on.  An’t  it.  Take  your  hat  off,  my  Lord.  Why, 
I should  be  ashamed  if  I was  you  — and  an  Earl,  too  — to 
show  myself  to  a gentleman  with  my  hat  on  ! — The  Earl  of 
Warwick  laughs  and  uncovers.  All  the  company  laugh.  One 
pick-pocket,  especially,  laughs  with  great  enthusiasm.  0 


356 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


what  a jolly  game  it  is,  when  Mr.  Field  comes  down  — and 
don’t  want  nobody  ! 

So,  you  are  here,  too,  are  yon,  you  tall,  gray,  soldierly- 
looking,  grave  man,  standing  by  the  fire  ? — Yes,  Sir.  Good 
evening,  Mr.  Field ! — Let  us  see.  You  lived  servant  to  a 
nobleman  once? — Yes,  Mr.  Field.  — And  what  is  it  you  do 
now;  I forget?  — Well,  Mr.  Field,  I job  about  as  well  as  1 
can.  I left  my  employment  on  account  of  delicate  health. 
The  family  is  still  kind  to  me.  Mr.  Wix  of  Piccadilly  is  also 
very  kind  to  me  when  I am  hard  up.  Likewise  Mr.  Nix  of 
Oxford  Street.  I get  a trifle  from  them  occasionally,  and  rub 
on  as  well  as  I can,  Mr.  Field.  Mr.  Field’s  eye  rolls  enjoy- 
ingly,  for  this  man  is  a notorious  begging-letter  writer.  — 
Good  night,  my  lads  ! — Good  night,  Mr.  Field,  and  thank’ee, 
Sir ! 

Clear  the  street  here,  half  a thousand  of  you  ! Cut  it, 
’Mrs.  Stalker  — none  of  that  — we  don’t  want  you  ! Bogers 
of  the  flaming  eye,  lead  on  to  the  tramps’  lodging-house  ! 

A dream  of  baleful  faces  attends  to  the  door.  Now,  stand 
back  all  of  you  ! In  the  rear  Detective  Sergeant  plants  him- 
self, composedly  whistling,  with  his  strong  right  arm  across 
the  narrow  passage.  Mrs.  Stalker,  I am  something’d  that 
need  not  be  written  here,  if  you  won’t  get  yourself  into 
trouble,  in  about  half  a minute,  if  I see  that  face  of  yours 
again  ! 

Saint  Giles’s  church  clock,  striking  eleven,  hums  through 
our  hand  from  the  dilapidated  door  of  a dark  outhouse  as  we 
open  it,  and  are  stricken  back  by  the  pestilent  breath  that 
issues  from  within.  Bogers  to  the  front  with  the  light,  and 
let  us  look ! 

Ten,  twenty,  thirty  — who  can  count  them  ! Men,  women, 
children,  for  the  most  part  naked,  heaped  upon  the  floor  like 
maggots  in  a cheese ! Ho ! In  that  dark  corner  yonder  ! 
Does  any  body  lie  there  ? Me  Sir,  Irish  me,  a widder,  with 
six  children.  And  yonder  ? Me  Sir,  Irish  me,  with  me  wife 
and  eight  poor  babes.  And  to  the  left  there  ? Me  Sir,  Irish 
me,  along  with  two  more  Irish  boys  as  is  me  friends.  And  to 
the  right  there  ? Me  Sir  and  the  Murphy  fam’ly,  numbering 
five  blessed  souls.  And  what’s  this,  coiling,  now,  about  my 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


85f 


foot  ? Another  Irish  me,  pitifully  in  want  of  shaving,  whom 
I have  awakened  from  sleep — and  across  my  other  foot  lies 
his  wife  — and  by  the  shoes  of  Inspector  Field  lie  their  three 
eldest  — and  their  three  youngest  are  at  present  squeezed 
between  the  open  door  and  the  wall.  And  why  is  there  no 
one  on  that  little  mat  before  the  sullen  fire  ? Because 
O’Donovan,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  is  not  come  in  from 
selling  Lucifers  ! Nor  on  the  bit  of  sacking  in  the  nearest 
corner  ? Bad  luck ! Because  that  Irish  family  is  late  to- 
night, a-cadging  in  the  streets  ! 

They  are  all  awake  now,  the  children  excepted,  and  most  of 
them  sit  up,  to  stare.  Wheresoever  Mr.  Bogers  turns  the  flam- 
ing eye,  there  is  a spectral  figure  rising,  unshrouded,  from  a 
grave  of  rags.  Who  is  the  landlord  here  ? — I am,  Mr.  Field  ! 
says  a bundle  of  ribs  and  parchment  against  the  wall,  scratch- 
ing itself.  — Will  you  spend  this  money  fairly,  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  buy  coffee  for  ’em  all  ? — Yes,  Sir,  I will ! — 0 he’ll  do 
it  Sir,  he’ll  do  it  fair.  He’s  honest ! cry  the  spectres.  And 
with  thanks  and  Good  Night  sink  into  their  graves  again. 

Thus,  we  make  our  New  Oxford  Streets,  and  our  other  new 
streets,  never  heeding,  never  asking,  where  the  wretches 
whom  we  clear  out,  crowd.  With  such  scenes  at  our  doors, 
with  all  the  plagues  of  Egypt  tied  up  with  bits  of  cobweb  in 
kennels  so  near  our  homes,  we  timorously  make  our  Nuisance 
Bills  and  Boards  of  Health,  nonentities,  and  think  to  keep 
away  the  Wolves  of  Crime  and  Filth,  by  our  electioneering 
ducking  to  little  vestrymen  and  our  gentlemanly  handling  of 
Bed  Tape ! 

Intelligence  of  the  coffee  money  has  got  abroad.  The  yard 
is  full,  and  Bogers  of  the  flaming  eye  is  beleaguered  with 
entreaties  to  show  other  Lodging  Houses.  Mine  next ! Mine  ! 
Mine ! Bogers,  military,  obdurate,  stiff-necked,  immovable, 
replies  not,  but  leads  away ; all  falling  back  before  him.  In- 
spector Field  follows.  Detective  Sergeant,  with  his  barrier  of 
arm  across  the  little  passage,  deliberately  waits  to  close  the 
procession.  He  sees  behind  him,  without  any  effort,  and 
exceedingly  disturbs  one  individual  far  in  the  rear  by  coolly 
calling  out,  “It  won’t  do,  Mr.  Michael ! Don’t  try  it ! ” 

After  council  holden  in  the  street,  we  enter  other  lodging 


358 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


houses,  public-houses,  many  lairs  and  holes ; all  noisome  and 
offensive ; none  so  filthy  and  so  crowded  as  where  Irish  are. 
In  one,  The  Ethiopian  party  are  expected  home  presently  — 
were  in  Oxford  Street  when  last  heard  of  — shall  be  fetched, 
for  our  delight,  within  ten  minutes.  In  another,  one  of  the 
two  or  three  Professors  who  draw  Napoleon  Buonaparte  and  a 
couple  of  mackerel,  on  the  pavement,  and  then  let  the  work  of 
art  out  to  a speculator,  is  refreshing  after  his  labors.  In 
another,  the  vested  interest  of  the  profitable  nuisance  has 
been  in  one  family  for  a hundred  years,  and  the  landlord 
drives  in  comfortably  from  the  country  to  his  snug  little  stew 
in  town.  In  all,  Inspector  Field  is  received  with  warmth. 
Coiners  and  smashers  droop  before  him ; pickpockets  defer  to 
him ; the  gentle  sex  (not  very  gentle  here)  smile  upon  him. 
Half-drunken  hags  check  themselves  in  the  midst  of  pots  of 
beer,  or  pints  of  gin,  to  drink  to  Mr.  Field,  and  pressingly  to 
ask  the  honor  of  his  finishing  the  draught.  One  beldame  in 
rusty  black  has  such  admiration  for  him,  that  she  runs  a 
whole  street’s  length  to  shake  him  by  the  hand;  tumbling 
into  a heap  of  mud  by  the  way,  and  still  pressing  her  atten- 
tions when  her  very  form  has  ceased  to  be  distinguishable 
through  it.  Before  the  power  of  the  law,  the  power  of  supe- 
rior sense  — for  common  thieves  are  fools  beside  these  men  — • 
and  the  power  of  a perfect  mastery  of  their  character,  the 
garrison  of  Bats’  Castle  and  the  adjacent  Fortresses  make  but 
a skulking  show  indeed  when  reviewed  by  Inspector  Field. 

Saint  Giles’s  clock  says  it  will  be  midnight  in  half-an-hour, 
and  Inspector  Field  says  we  must  hurry  to  the  Old  Mint  in 
the  Borough.  The  cab-driver  is  low-spirited,  and  has  a sol- 
emn sense  of  his  responsibility.  Now,  what’s  your  fare,  my 
lad  ? — 0 you  know,  Inspector  Field,  what’s  the  good  of 
asking  me  l 

Say,  Parker,  strapped  and  great-coated,  and  waiting  in  dim 
Borough  doorway  by  appointment,  to  replace  the  trusty  Bogers 
whom  we  left  deep  in  Saint  Giles’s,  are  you  ready  ? Beady, 
Inspector  Field,  and  at  a motion  of  my  wrist  behold  my  flam- 
ing eye. 

This  narrow  street,  sir,  is  the  chief  part  of  the  Old  Mint, 
full  of  low  lodging-houses,  as  you  see  by  the  transparent  can- 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD.  359 

vas-lamps  and  blinds,  announcing  beds  for  travellers  ! But  it 
is  greatly  changed,  friend  Field,  from  my  former  knowledge 
of  it ; it  is  infinitely  quieter  and  more  subdued  than  when  I 
was  here  last,  some  seven  years  ago  ? 0 yes ! Inspector. 

Haynes,  a first-rate  man,  is  on  this  station  now  and  plays  the 
Devil  with  them  ! 

Well,  my  lads  ! How  are  you  to-night,  my  lads  ! Playing 
cards  here,  eh  ? Who  wins  ? — Why,  Mr.  Field,  I,  the  sulky 
gentleman  with  the  damp  flat  side-curls,  rubbing  my  bleared 
eye  with  the  end  of  my  neck-kerchief  which  is  like  a dirty  eel- 
skin,  am  losing  just  at  present,  but  I suppose  I must  take  my 
pipe  out  of  my  mouth,  and  be  submissive  to  you  — I hope  I 
see  you  well,  Mr.  Field  ? — Aye,  all  right,  my  lad.  Deputy, 
who  have  you  got  up  stairs  ? Be  pleased  to  show  the  rooms  ! 

Why  Deputy,  Inspector  Field  can’t  say.  He  only  knows 
that  the  man  who  takes  care  of  the  beds  and  lodgers  is  always 
called  so.  Steady,  0 Deputy,  with  the  flaring  candle  in  the 
blacking-bottle,  for  this  is  a slushy  back-yard,  and  the  wooden 
staircase  outside  the  house  creaks  and  has  holes  in  it. 

Again,  in  these  confined  intolerable  rooms,  burrowed  out 
like  the  holes  of  rats  or  the  nests  of  insect-vermin,  but  fuller 
of  intolerable  smells,  are  crowds  of  sleepers,  each  on  his  foul 
truckle-bed  coiled  up  beneath  a rug.  Halloa  here ! Come ! 
Let  us  see  you ! Show  your  face ! Pilot  Parker  goes  from 
bed  to  bed  and  turns  their  slumbering  heads  towards  us,  as  a 
salesman  might  turn  sheep.  Some  wake  up  with  an  execration 
and  a threat.  — What ! who  spoke  ? 0 ! If  it’s  the  accursed 

glaring  eye  that  fixes  me,  go  where  I will,  I am  helpless. 
Here  ! I sit  up  to  be  looked  at.  Is  it  me  you  want  ? — Hot 
you,  lie  down  again ! — and  I lie  down,  with  a woeful  growl. 

Wherever  the  turning  lane  of  light  becomes  stationary  for  a 
moment,  some  sleeper  appears  at  the  end  of  it,  submits  him- 
self to  be  scrutinized,  and  fades  away  into  the  darkness. 

There  should  be  strange  dreams  here,  Deputy.  They  sleep 
sound  enough,  says  Deputy,  taking  the  candle  out  of  the 
blacking-bottle,  snuffing  it  with  his  fingers,  throwing  the 
snuff  into  the  bottle,  and  corking  it  up  with  the  candle ; 
that’s  all  I know.  What  is  the  inscription,  Deputy,  on  all 
the  discolored  sheets  ? A precaution  against  loss  of  linen. 


360 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD . 


Deputy  turns  down  the  rug  of  an  unoccupied  bed  and  discloses 
it.  Stop  Thief  ! 

To  lie  at  night,  wrapped  in  the  legend  of  my  slinking  life ; 
to  take  the  cry  that  pursues  me,  waking,  to  my  breast  in 
sleep ; to  have  it  staring  at  me,  and  clamoring  for  me,  as  soon 
as  consciousness  returns ; to  have  it  for  my  first-foot  on 
New-Year’s  day,  my  Valentine,  my  Birthday  salute,  my  Christ- 
mas greeting,  my  parting  with  the  old  year.  Stop  Thief  ! 

And  to  know  that  I must  be  stopped,  come  what  will.  To 
know  that  I am  no  match  for  this  individual  energy  and 
keenness,  or  this  organized  and  steady  system  ! Come  across 
the  street,  here,  and,  entering  by  a little  shop,  and  yard, 
examine  these  intricate  passages  and  doors,  contrived  for 
escape,  flapping  and  counter-flapping,  like  the  lids  of  the 
conjurer’s  boxes.  But  what  avail  they  ? Who  gets  in  by  a 
nod,  and  shows  their  secret  working  to  us  ? Inspector  Field. 

Don’t  forget  the  old  Farm  House,  Parker ! Parker  is  not 
the  man  to  forget  it.  We  are  going  there,  now.  It  is  the 
old  Manor-House  of  these  parts,  and  stood  in  the  country 
once.  Then,  perhaps,  there  was  something,  which  was  not 
the  beastly  street,  to  see  from  the  shattered  low  fronts  of  the 
overhanging  wooden  houses  we  are  passing  under  — shut  up 
now,  pasted  over  with  bills  about  the  literature  and  drama  of 
the  Mint,  and  mouldering  away.  This  long  paved  yard  wras 
a paddock  or  a garden  once,  or  a court  in  front  of  the  Farm 
House.  Perchance,  with  a dovecot  in  the  centre,  and  fowls 
pecking  about  — with  fair  elm  trees,  then,  where  discolored 
chimney-stacks  and  gables  are  now  — noisy,  then,  with  rooks 
which  have  yielded  to  a different  sort  of  rookery.  It’s  likelier 
than  not,  Inspector  Field  thinks,  as  we  turn  into  the  common 
kitchen,  which  is  in  the  yard,  and  many  paces  from  the 
house. 

Well  my  lads  and  lasses,  how  are  you  all ! Where’s 
Blackey,  who  has  stood  near  London  Bridge  these  five-and- 
twenty  years,  with  a painted  skin  to  represent  disease  ? — 
Here  he  is,  Mr.  Field  ! — How  are  you,  Blackey  ? — Jolly,  sa ! 
— Not  playing  the  fiddle  to-night,  Blackey?  — Not  a night, 
sa  ! — A sharp,  smiling  youth,  the  wit  of  the  kitchen,  interposes. 
He  an’t  musical  to-night,  sir.  I’ve  been  giving  him  a moral 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


361 


lecture ; Fve  been  a talking  to  him  about  his  latter  end,  you 
see.  A good  many  of  these  are  my  pupils,  sir.  This  here 
young  man  (smoothing  down  the  hair  of  one  near  him,  reading 
a Sunday  paper)  is  a pupil  of  mine.  I’m  a teaching  of  him  to 
read,  sir.  He’s  a promising  cove,  sir.  He’s  a smith,  he  is, 
and  gets  his  living  by  the  sweat  of  the  brow,  sir.  So  do  I, 
myself,  sir.  This  young  woman  is  my  sister,  Mr.  Field.  She’s 
getting  on  very  well  too.  I’ve  a deal  of  trouble  with  ’em,  sir, 
but  I’m  richly  rewarded,  now  I see,  ’em  all  a doing  so  well,  and 
growing  up  so  creditable.  That’s  a great  comfort,  that  is,  an’t 
it,  sir  ? — In  the  midst  of  the  kitchen  (the  whole  kitchen  is 
in  ecstacies  with  this  impromtu  “ chaff”)  sits  a young,  modest, 
gentle-looking  creature,  with  a beautiful  child  in  her  lap. 
She  seems  to  belong  to  the  company,  but  is  so  strangely  unlike 
it.  She  has  such  a pretty,  quiet  face  and  voice,  and  is  so 
proud  to  hear  the  child  admired  — thinks  you  would  hardly 
believe  that  he  is  only  nine  months  old ! Is  she  as  bad  as  the 
rest,  I wonder  ? Inspectorial  experience  does  not  engender 
a belief  contrariwise,  but  prompts  the  answer,  Hot  a ha’porth 
of  difference ! 

There  is  a piano  going  in  the  old  Farm  House  as  we 
approach.  It  stops.  Landlady  appears.  Has  no  objections, 
Mr.  Field,  to  gentlemen  being  brought,  but  wishes  it  were  at 
earlier  hours,  the  lodgers  complaining  of  ill-conwenience. 
Inspector  Field  is  polite  and  soothing  — knows  his  woman  and 
the  sex.  Deputy  (a  girl  in  this  case)  shows  the  way  up  a 
heavy  broad  old  staircase,  kept  very  clean,  into  clean  rooms 
where  many  sleepers  are,  and  where  painted  panels  of  an  older 
time  look  strangely  on  the  truckle  beds.  The  sight  of  white- 
wash and  the  smell  of  soap  — two  things  we  seem  by  this  time 
to  have  parted  from  in  infancy  — make  the  old  Farm  House  a 
phenomenon,  and  connect  themselves  with  the  so  curiously 
misplaced  picture  of  the  pretty  mother  and  child  long  after 
we  have  left  it, — long  after  we  have  left,  besides,  the  neigh- 
boring nook  with  something  of  a rustic  flavor  in  it  yet,  where 
once,  beneath  a low  wooden  colonnade  still  standing  as  of 
yore,  the  eminent  Jack  Sheppard  condescended  to  regale 
himself,  and  where,  now,  two  old  bachelor  brothers  in  broad 
hats  (who  are  whispered  in  the  Mint  to  have  made  a compact 


362 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


long  ago  that  if  either  should  ever  marry,  he  must  forfeit  his 
share  of  the  joint  property)  still  keep  a sequestered  tavern, 
and  sit  o’  nights  smoking  pipes  in  the  bar,  among  ancient 
bottles  and  glasses,  as  our  eyes  behold  them. 

How  goes  the  night  now?  Saint  George  of  Southwark 
answers  with  twelve  blows  upon  his  bell.  Parker,  good 
night,  for  Williams  is  already  waiting  over  in  the  region  of 
Ratclyffe  Highway,  to  show  the  houses  where  the  sailors 
dance. 

I should  like  to  know  where  Inspector  Field  was  born.  In 
Ratcliffe  Highway,  I would  have  answered  with  confidence, 
but  for  his  being  equally  at  home  wherever  we  go.  He  does 
not  trouble  his  head  as  I do,  about  the  river  at  night.  He 
does  not  care  for  its  creeping,  black  and  silent,  on  our  right 
there,  rushing  through  sluice  gates,  lapping  at  piles  and  posts 
and  iron  rings,  hiding  strange  things  in  its  mud,  running  away 
with  suicides  and  accidentally  drowned  bodies  faster  than  mid- 
night funeral  should,  and  acquiring  such  various  experience 
between  its  cradle  and  its  grave.  It  has  no  mystery  for  him. 
Is  there  not  the  Thames  Police ! 

Accordingly,  Williams  lead  the  way.  We  are  a little  late, 
for  some  of  the  houses  are  already  closing.  Ho  matter.  You 
show  us  plenty.  All  the  landlords  know  Inspector  Field.  All 
pass  him,  freely  and  good-humoredly,  wheresoever  he  wants 
to  go.  So  thoroughly  are  all  these  houses  open  to  him  and 
our  local  guide,  that,  granting  that  sailors  must  be  enter- 
tained in  their  own  way  — as  I suppose  they  must,  and  have 
a right  to  be  — I hardly  know  how  such  places  could  be  better 
regulated.  Hot  that  I call  the  company  very  select,  or  the 
dancing  very  graceful  — even  so  graceful  as  that  of  the  Ger- 
man Sugar  Bakers,  whose  assembly,  by  the  Minories,  we 
stopped  to  visit — but  there  is  watchful  maintenance  of  order 
in  every  house,  and  swift  expulsion  where  need  is.  Even  in 
the  midst  of  drunkenness,  both  of  the  lethargic  kind  and  the 
lively,  there  is  sharp  landlord  supervision,  and  pockets  are  in 
less  peril  than  out  of  doors.  These  houses  show,  singularly, 
how  much  of  the  picturesque  and  romantic  there  truly  is  in 
the  sailor,  requiring  to  be  especially  addressed.  All  the  songs 
(sung  in  a hailstorm  of  halfpence,  which  are  pitched  at  the 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD . 


363 


singer  without  the  least  tenderness  for  the  time  or  tune  — 
mostly  from  great  rolls  of  copper  carried  for  the  purpose  — 
and  which  he  occasionally  dodges  like  shot  as  they  fly  near 
his  head)  are  of  the  sentimental  sea  sort.  All  the  rooms  are 
decorated  with  nautical  subjects.  Wrecks,  engagements,  ships 
on  fire,  ships  passing  lighthouses  on  iron-bound  coasts,  ships 
blowing  up,  ships  going  down,  ships  running  ashore,  men 
lying  out  upon  the  main  yard  in  a gale  of  wind,  sailors  and 
ships  in  every  variety  of  peril,  constitute  the  illustrations  of 
fact.  Nothing  can  be  done  in  the  fanciful  way,  without  a 
thumping  boy  upon  a scaly  dolphin. 

How  goes  the  night  now  ? Past  one.  Black  and  Green 
are  waiting  in  Whitechapel  to  unveil  the  mysteries  of  Went- 
worth Street.  Williams,  the  best  of  friends,  must  part. 
Adieu ! 

Are  not  Black  and  Green  ready  at  the  appointed  place  ? O 
yes  ! They  glide  out  of  shadow  as  we  stop.  Imperturbable 
Black  opens  the  cab-door ; Imperturbable  Green  takes  a 
mental  note  of  the  driver.  Both  Green  and  Black  then  open, 
each  his  flaming  eye,  and  marshal  us  the  way  that  we  are 
going. 

The  lodging-house  we  want,  is  hidden  in  a maze  of  streets 
and  courts.  It  is  fast  shut.  We  knock  at  the  door,  and 
stand  hushed  looking  up  for  a light  at  one  or  other  of  the 
begrimed  old  lattice  windows  in  its  ugly  front,  when  another 
constable  comes  up  — supposes  that  we  want  “ to  see  the 
school.55  Detective  Sergeant  meantime  has  got  over  a rail, 
opened  a gate,  dropped  down  an  area,  overcome  some  other 
little  obstacles,  and  tapped  at  a window.  Now  returns.  The 
landlord  will  send  a deputy  immediately. 

Deputy  is  heard  to  stumble  out  of  bed.  Deputy  lights  a 
candle,  draws  back  a bolt  or  two,  and  appears  at  the  door. 
Deputy  is  a shivering  shirt  and  trousers  by  no  means  clean, 
a yawning  face,  a shock  head  much  confused  externally  and 
internally.  We  want  to  look  for  some  one.  You  may  go  up 
with  the  light,  and  take  5em  all,  if  you  like,  says  Deputy, 
resigning  it,  and  sitting  down  upon  a bench  in  the  kitchen 
with  his  ten  fingers  sleepily  twisting  in  his  hair. 

Halloa  here ! Now  then ! Show  yourselves.  That5!!  do. 


364 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD . 


It’s  not  you.  Don’t  disturb  yourself  any  more ! So  on, 
through  a labyrinth  of  airless  rooms,  each  man  responding, 
like  a wild  beast,  to  the  keeper  who  has  tamed  him,  and  who 
goes  into  his  cage.  What,  you  haven’t  found  him,  then  ? says 
Deputy,  when  we  came  down.  A woman  mysteriously  sitting 
up  all  night  in  the  dark  by  the  smouldering  ashes  of  the 
kitchen  fire,  says  it’s  only  tramps  and  cadgers  here : it’s 
gonophs  over  the  way.  A man,  mysteriously  walking  about 
the  kitchen  all  night  in  the  dark,  bids  her  hold  her  tongue. 
We  come  out.  Deputy  fastens  the  door  and  goes  to  bed  again. 

Black  and  Green,  you  know  Bark,  lodging-house  keeper  and 
receiver  of  stolen  goods  ? — 0 yes,  Inspector  Field.  — Go  to 
Bark’s  next. 

Bark  sleeps  in  an  inner  wooden  hutch,  near  his  street-door. 
As  we  parley  on  the  step  with  Bark’s  Deputy,  Bark  growls  in 
his  bed.  We  enter,  and  Bark  flies  out  of  bed.  Bark  is  a red 
villain  and  a wrathful,  with  a sanguine  throat  that  looks  very 
much  as  if  it  were  expressly  made  for  hanging,  as  he  stretches 
it  out,  in  pale  defiance,  over  the  half-door  of  his  hutch.  Bark’s 
parts  of  speech  are  of  an  awful  sort — principally  adjectives. 
I won’t,  says  Bark,  have  no  adjective  police  and  adjective 
strangers  in  my  adjective  premises  ! I won’t,  by  adjective  and 
substantive  ! Give  me  my  trousers,  and  I’ll  send  the  whole 
adjective  police  to  adjective  and  substantive  ! Give  me,  says 
Bark,  my  adjective  trousers.  I’ll  put  an  adjective  knife  in 
the  whole  bileing  of  ’em.  I’ll  punch  their  adjective  heads. 
I’ll  rip  up  their  adjective  substantives.  Give  me  my  adjective 
trousers  ! says  Bark,  and  I’ll  spile  the  bileing  of  ’em ! 

How,  Bark,  what’s  the  use  of  this  ? Here’s  Black  and 
Green,  Detective  Sergeant,  and  Inspector  Field.  You  know 
we  will  come  in.  — I know  you  won’t ! says  Bark.  Somebody 
give  me  my  adjective  trousers ! Bark’s  trousers  seem  difficult 
to  find.  He  calls  for  them,  as  Hercules  might  for  his  club. 
Give  me  my  adjective  trousers  ! says  Bark,  and  I’ll  spile  the 
bileing  of  ’em  ! 

Inspector  Field  holds  that  it’s  all  one  whether  Bark  likes 
the  visit  or  don’t  like  it.  He,  Inspector  Field,  is  an  Inspector 
of  the  Detective  Police,  Detective  Sergeant  is  Detective  Ser- 
geant, Black  and  Green  are  constables  in  uniform.  Don’t  you 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD. 


365 


be  a .fool.  Bark,  or  you  know  it  will  be  the  worst  for  you.  — I 
don’t  care,  says  Bark.  Give  me  my  adjective  trousers  ! 

At  two  o’clock  in  the-  morning,  we  descend  into  Bark’s  low 
kitchen,  leaving  Bark  to  foam  at  the  mouth  above,  and  Im- 
perturbable Black  and  Green  to  look  at  him.  Bark’s  kitchen 
is  crammed  full  of  thieves,  holding  a conversazione  there  by 
lamp-light.  It  is  by  far  the  most  dangerous  assembly  we  have 
seen  yet.  Stimulated  by  the  ravings  of  Bark,  above,  their 
looks  are  sullen,  but  not  a man  speaks.  We  ascend  again. 
Bark  has  got  his  trousers,  and  is  in  a state  of  madness  in  the 
passage  with  his  back  against  a door  that  shuts  off  the  upper 
staircase.  We  observe,  in  other  respects,  a ferocious  individu- 
ality in  Bark.  Instead  of  “ Stop  Thief  ! ” on  his  linen,  he 
prints  “ Stolen  from  Bark’s  ! ” 

Now  Bark,  we  are  going  up  stairs  ! — No,  you  ain’t ! — You 
refuse  admission  to  the  Police,  do  you,  Bark  ? — Yes,  I do ! 
I refuse  it  to  all  the  adjective  police  and  to  all  the  adjective 
substantives.  If  the  adjective  coves  in  the  kitchen  was  men, 
they’d  come  up  now,  and  do  for  you ! Shut  me  that  there 
door ! says  Bark,  and  suddenly  we  are  enclosed  in  the  passage. 
They’d  come  up  and  do  for  you  ! cries  Bark,  and  waits.  Not 
a sound  in  the  kitchen ! They’d  come  up  and  do  for  you ! 
cries  Bark  again,  and  waits.  Not  a sound  in  the  kitchen ! 
We  are  shut  up,  half-a-dozen  of  us,  in  Bark’s  house  in  the 
innermost  recesses  of  the  worst  part  of  London,  in  the  dead  of 
the  night  — the  house  is  crammed  with  notorious  robbers  and 
ruffians  — and  not  a man  stirs.  No,  Bark.  They  know  the 
weight  of  the  law,  and  they  know  Inspector  Field  and  Co.  too 
well. 

We  leave  bully  Bark  to  subside  at  leisure  out  of  his  passion 
and  his  trousers,  and,  I dare  say,  to  be  inconveniently  re- 
minded of  this  little  brush  before  long.  Black  and  Green  do 
ordinary  duty  here,  and  look  serious. 

As  to  White,  who  waits  on  Holborn  Hill  to  show  the  courts 
that  are  eaten  out  of  Rotten  Gray’s  Inn  Lane,  where  other 
lodging-houses  are,  and  where  (in  one  blind  alley)  the  Thieves’ 
Kitchen  and  Seminary  for  the  teaching  of  the  art  to  children, 
is,  the  night  has  so  worn  away,  being  now 

almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is  which, 


366 


ON  DUTY  WITH  INSPECTOR  FIELD . 


that  they  are  quiet,  and  no  light  shines  through  the  chinks  in 
the  shutters.  As  undistinctive  Death  will  come  here,  one 
day,  sleep  comes  now.  The  wicked  cease  from  troubling 
sometimes,  even  in  this  life. 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


A very  dark  night  it  was,  and  bitter  cold ; the  east  wind 
blowing  bleak,  and  bringing  with  it  stinging  particles  from 
marsh,  and  moor,  and  fen  — from  the  Great  Desert  and  Old 
Egypt,  may  be.  Some  of  the  component  parts  of  the  sharp- 
edged  vapor  that  came  flying  up  the  Thames  at  London 
might  be  mummy-dust,  dry  atoms  from  the  Temple  at  J eru- 
salem,  camels’  foot-prints,  crocodiles’  hatching-places,  loosened 
grains  of  expression  from  the  visages  of  blunt-nosed  sphynxes, 
waifs  and  strays  from  caravans  of  turbaned  merchants,  vegeta- 
tion from  jungles,  frozen  snow  from  the  Himalayas.  0 ! It 
was  very  very  dark  upon  the  Thames,  and  it  was  bitter  bitter 
cold. 

“And  yet,”  said  the  voice  within  the  great  pea-coat  at  my 
side,  “ you’ll  have  seen  a good  many  rivers  too,  I dare  say  ? ” 

“ Truly,”  said  I,  “ when  I come  to  think  of  it,  not  a few. 
From  the  Niagara,  downward  to  the  mountain  rivers  of 
Italy,  which  are  like  the  national  spirit  — very  tame,  or  chaf- 
ing suddenly  and  bursting  bounds,  only  to  dwindle  away 
again.  The  Moselle,  and  the  Rhine,  and  the  Rhone ; and 
the  Seine,  and  the  Saone ; and  the  St.  Lawrence,  Mississippi, 
and  Ohio  ; and  the  Tiber,  the  Po,  and  the  Arno  ; and  the  — ” 
Peacoat  coughing,  as  if  he  had  had  enough  of  that,  I said 
no  more.  I could  have  carried  the  catalogue  on  to  a teasing 
length,  though,  if  I had  been  in  the  cruel  mind. 

“ And  after  all,”  said  he,  “ this  looks  so  dismal  ? ” 

“ So  awful,”  I returned,  “ at  night.  The  Seine  at  Paris  is 
very  gloomy  too,  at  such  a time,  and  is  probably  the  scene  of 
far  more  crime  and  greater  wickedness ; but  this  river  looks 
so  broad  and  vast,  so  murky  and  silent,  seems  such  an  image 
of  death  in  the  midst  of  the  great  city’s  life,  that  — ” 

367 


368 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


That  Peacoat  coughed  again.  He  could  not  stand  my  hold- 
ing forth. 

We  were  in  a four-oared  Thames  Police  Galley,  lying  on 
our  oars  in  the  deep  shadow  of  Southwark  Bridge  — under  the 
corner  arch  on  the  Surrey  side  — having  come  down  with  the 
tide  from  Yauxhall.  We  were  fain  to  hold  on  pretty  tight 
though  close  in  shore,  for  the  river  was  swollen  and  the  tide 
running  down  very  strong.  We  were  watching  certain  water- 
rats  of  human  growth,  and  lay  in  the  deep  shade  as  quiet  as 
mice ; our  light  hidden  and  our  scraps  of  conversation  carried 
on  in  whispers.  Above  us,  the  massive  iron  girders  of  the  arch 
were  faintly  visible,  and  below  us  its  ponderous  shadow  seemed 
to  sink  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  stream. 

We  had  been  lying  here  some  half  an  hour.  With  our  backs 
to  the  wind,  it  is  true ; but  the  wind  being  in  a determined 
temper  blew  straight  through  us,  and  would  not  take  the 
trouble  to  go  round.  I would  have  boarded  a fireship  to  get 
into  action,  and  mildly  suggested  as  much  to  my  friend  Pea. 

“ Ho  doubt,”  says  he,  as  patiently  as  possible  • “ but  shore- 
going tactics  wouldn’t  do  with  us.  Piver  thieves  can  always 
get  rid  of  stolen  property  in  a moment  by  dropping  it  over- 
board. Wre  want  to  take  them  with  the  property,  so  we  lurk 
about  and  come  out  upon  ’em  sharp.  If  they  see  us  or  hear 
us,  over  it  goes.” 

Pea’s  wisdom  being  indisputable,  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  sit  there  and  be  blown  through,  for  another  half  hour. 
The  water-rats  thinking  it  wise  to  abscond  at  the  end  of  that 
time  without  commission  of  felony,  we  shot  out,  disappointed, 
with  the  tide. 

“ Grim  they  look,  don’t  they  ? ” said  Pea,  seeing  me  glance 
over  my  shoulder  at  the  lights  upon  the  bridge,  and  downward 
at  their  long  crooked  reflections  in  the  river. 

“Very,”  said  I,  “and  make  one  think  with  a shudder 
of  Suicides.  What  a night  for  a dreadful  leap  from  that 
parapet ! ” 

“ Aye,  but  Waterloo’s  the  favorite  bridge  for  making  holes 
in  the  water  from,”  returned  Pea.  “ By  the  by  — avast  pull- 
ing, lads ! — would  you  like  to  speak  to  Waterloo  on  the 
subject  ? ” 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


369 


My  face  confessing  a surprised  desire  to  have  some  friendly 
conversation  with.  Waterloo  Bridge,  and  my  friend  Pea  being 
the  most  obliging  of  men,  we  put  about,  pulled  out  of  the 
force  of  the  stream,  and  in  place  of  going  at  great  speed  with 
the  tide,  began  to  strive  against  it,  close  in  shore  again.  Every 
color  but  black  seemed  to  have  departed  from  the  world.  The 
air  was  black,  the  water  was  black,  the  barges  and  hulks  were 
black,  the  piles  were  black,  the  buildings  were  black,  the  shad- 
ows were  only  a deeper  shade  of  black  upon  a black  ground. 
Here  and  there,  a coal  fire  in  an  iron  cresset  blazed  upon  a 
wharf ; but,  one  knew  that  it  too  had  been  black  a little  while 
ago,  and  would  be  black  again  soon.  Uncomfortable  rushes 
of  water  suggestive  of  gurgling  and  drowning,  ghostly  rattlings 
of  iron  chains,  dismal  clankings  of  discordant  engines,  formed 
the  music  that  accompanied  the  dip  of  our  oars  and  their  rat- 
tling in  the  rullocks.  Even  the  noises  had  a black  sound  to 
me  — as  the  trumpet  sounded  red  to  the  blind  man. 

Our  dexterous  boat’s  crew  made  nothing  of  the  tide,  and 
pulled  us  gallantly  up  to  Waterloo  Bridge.  Here  Pea  and  I 
disembarked,  passed  under  the  black  stone  archway,  and 
climbed  the  steep  stone  steps.  Within  a few  feet  of  their 
summit,  Pea  presented  me  to  Waterloo  (or  an  eminent  toll- 
taker  representing  that  structure),  muffled  up  to  the  eyes  in  a 
thick  shawl,  and  amply  great-coated  and  fur-capped. 

Waterloo  received  us  with  cordiality,  and  observed  of  the 
night  that  it  was  “a  Searcher.”  He  had  been  originally  called 
the  Strand  Bridge,  he  informed  us,  but  had  received  his  present 
name  at  the  suggestion  of  the  proprietors,  when  Parliament 
had  resolved  to  vote  three  hundred  thousand  pound  for  the 
erection  of  a monument  in  honor  of  the  victory.  Parliament 
took  the  hint  (said  Waterloo,  with  the  least  flavor  of  misan- 
throphy)  and  saved  the  money.  Of  course  the  late  Duke  of 
Wellington  was  the  first  passenger,  and  of  course  he  paid  his 
penny,  and  of  course  a noble  lord  preserved  it  evermore.  The 
treadle  and  index  at  the  toll-house  (a  most  ingenious  contriv- 
ance for  rendering  fraud  impossible),  were  invented  by  Mr. 
Lethbridge,  then  property-man  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre. 

Was  it  suicide,  we  wanted  to  know  about  ? said  Waterloo. 
Ha ! Well,  he  had  seen  a good  deal  of  that  work,  he  did 
vol.  n — 24 


370 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE . 


assure  us.  He  had  prevented  some.  Why,  one  day  a woman, 
poorish  looking,  came  in  between  the  hatch,  slapped  down  a 
penny,  and  wanted  to  go  on  without  the  change ! Waterloo 
suspected  this,  and  says  to  his  mate,  “ give  an  eye  to  the 
gate,”  and  bolted  after  her.  She  had  got  to  the  third  seat  be- 
tween the  piers,  and  was  on  the  parapet  just  a going  over, 
when  he  caught  her  and  gave  her  in  charge.  At  the  police 
office  next  morning,  she  said  it  was  along  of  trouble  and  a bad 
husband. 

“ Likely  enough,”  observed  Waterloo  to  Pea  and  myself,  as 
he  adjusted  his  chin  in  his  shawl.  “ There’s  a deal  of  trouble 
about,  you  see  — and  bad  husbands  too  ! ” 

Another  time,  a young  woman  at  twelve  o’clock  in  the  open 
day,  got  through,  darted  along;  and,  before  Waterloo  could 
come  near  her,  jumped  upon  the  parapet,  and  shot  herself  over 
sideways.  Alarm  given,  watermen  put  off,  lucky  escape.  — 
Clothes  buoyed  her  up. 

“This  is  where  it  is,”  said  Waterloo.  “If  people  jump  off 
straight  forwards  from  the  middle  of  the  parapet  of  the  bays 
of  the  bridge,  they  are  seldom  killed  by  drowning,  but  are 
smashed,  poor  things  ; that’s  what  they  are ; they  dash  them- 
selves upon  the  buttress  of  the  bridge.  But,  you  jump  off,” 
said  Waterloo  to  me,  putting  his  forefinger  in  a button  hole 
of  my  great  coat ; “you  jump  off  from  the  side  of  the  bay,  and 
you’ll  tumble,  true,  into  the  stream  under  the  arch.  What  you 
have  got  to  do,  is  to  mind  how  you  jump  in  ! There  was  poor 
Tom  Steele  from  Dublin.  Didn’t  dive  ! Bless  you,  didn’t 
dive  at  all ! Pell  down  so  flat  into  the  water,  that  he  broke 
his  breast-bone,  and  lived  two  days  ! ” 

I asked  Waterloo  if  there  were  a favorite  side  of  his  bridge 
for  this  dreadful  purpose  ? He  reflected,  and  thought  yes, 
there  was.  He  should  say  the  Surrey  side. 

Three  decent  looking  men  went  through  one  day,  soberly 
and  quietly,  and  went  on  abreast  for  about  a dozen  yards : 
when  the  middle  one,  he  sung  out,  all  of  a sudden,  “ Here  goes, 
Jack  ! ” and  was  over  in  a minute. 

Body  found?  Well.  Waterloo  didn’t  rightly  recollect 
about  that.  They  were  compositors,  they  were. 

He  considered  it  astonishing  how  quick  people  were ! Why, 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


371 


there  was  a cab  came  up  one  Boxing-night,  with  a young 
woman  in  it,  who  looked,  according  to  Waterloo’s  opinion  of 
her,  a little  the  worse  for  liquor ; very  handsome  she  was  too 
— very  handsome.  She  stopped  the  cab  at  the  gate,  and  said 
she’d  pay  the  cabman  then  : which  she  did,  though  there  was 
a little  hankering  about  the  fare,  because  at  first  she  didn’t 
seem  quite  to  know  where  she  wanted  to  be  drove  to.  How- 
ever she  paid  the  man,  and  the  toll  too,  and  looking  Waterloo 
in  the  face  (he  thought  she  knew  him,  don’t  you  see  ! ) said, 
“I’ll  finish  it  somehow!”  Well,  the  cab  went  off,  leaving 
Waterloo  a little  doubtful  in  his  mind,  and  while  it  was  going 
on  at  full  speed  the  young  woman  jumped  out,  never  fell, 
hardly  staggered,  ran  along  the  bridge  pavement  a little  way, 
passing  several  people,  and  jumped  over  from  the  second  open- 
ing. At  the  inquest  it  was  giv’  in  evidence  that  she  had  been 
quarrelling  at  the  Hero  of  Waterloo,  and  it  was  brought  in 
jealousy.  (One  of  the  results  of  Waterloo’s  experience  was, 
that  there  was  a deal  of  jealousy  about.) 

“Do  we  ever  get  madmen  ? ” said  Waterloo,  in  answer  to  an 
inquiry  of  mine.  “Well,  we  do  get  madmen.  Yes,  we  have 
had  one  or  two;  escaped  from  ’Sylums,  I suppose.  One  hadn’t 
a halfpenny  ; and  because  I wouldn’t  let  him  through,  he  went 
back  a little  way,  stooped  down,  took  a run,  and  butted  at  the 
hatch  like  a ram.  He  smashed  his  hat  rarely,  but  his  head 
didn’t  seem  no  worse  — in  my  opinion  on  account  of  his  being 
wrong  in  it  afore.  Sometimes  people  haven’t  got  a halfpenny. 
If  they  are  really  tired  and  poor  we  give  ’em  one  and  let  ’em 
through.  Other  people  will  leave  things  — pocket-handker- 
chiefs mostly.  I have  taken  cravats  and  gloves,  pocket-knives, 
tooth-picks,  studs,  shirt  pins,  rings  (generally  from  young 
gents,  early  in  the  morning),  but  handkerchiefs  is  the  general 
thing.” 

“Regular  customers?”  said  Waterloo.  “Lord,  yes!  We 
have  regular  customers.  One,  such  a worn-out  used-up  old  file 
as  you  can  scarcely  picter,  comes  from  the  Surrey  side  as  regu- 
lar as  ten  o’clock  at  night  comes  ; and  goes  over,  I think,  to 
some  flash  house  on  the  Middlesex  side.  He  comes  back,  he 
does,  as  reg’lar  as  the  clock  strikes  three  in  the  morning,  and 
then  can  hardly  drag  one  of  his  old  legs  after  the  other.  He 


372 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


always  turns  down  the  water-stairs,  comes  up  again,  and  then 
goes  on  down  the  Waterloo  Road.  He  always  does  the  same 
thing,  and  never  varies  a minute.  Does  it  every  night — even 
Sundays.” 

I asked  Waterloo  if  he  had  given  his  mind  to  the  possibility 
of  this  particular  customer  going  down  the  water-stairs  at 
three  o’clock  some  morning,  and  never  coming  up  again  ? He 
didn’t  think  that  of  him,  he  replied.  In  fact,  it  was  Waterloo’s 
opinion,  founded  on  his  observation  of  that  file,  that  he  know’d 
a trick  worth  two  of  it. 

“ There’s  another  queer  old  customer,”  said  Waterloo, 
“ comes  over,  as  punctual  as  the  almanack,  at  eleven  o’clock 
on  the  sixth  of  January,  at  eleven  o’clock  on  the  fifth  of  April, 
at  eleven  o’clock  on  the  sixth  of  July,  at  eleven  o’clock  on  the 
tenth  of  October.  Drives  a shaggy  little,  rough  pony,  in  a 
sort  of  a rattle-trap  arm-chair  sort  of  a thing.  White  hair  he 
has,  and  white  whiskers,  and  muffles  himself  up  with  all 
manner  of  shawls.  He  comes  back  again  the  same  afternoon, 
and  we  never  see  more  of  him  for  three  months.  He  is  a cap- 
tain in  the  navy  — retired  — wery  old — wery  odd  — and  served 
with  Lord  Nelson.  He  is  particular  about  drawing  his  pension 
at  Somerset  House  afore  the  clock  strikes  twelve  every  quarter. 
I have  heerd  say  that  he  thinks  it  wouldn’t  be  according  to  the 
Act  of  Parliament,  if  he  didn’t  draw  it  afore  twelve.” 

Having  related  these  anecdotes  in  a natural  manner,  which 
was  the  best  warranty  in  the  world  for  their  genuine  nature, 
our  friend  Waterloo  was  sinking  deep  into  his  shawl  again,  as 
having  exhausted  his  communicative  powers  and  taken  in 
enough  east  wind,  when  my  other  friend  Pea  in  a moment 
brought  him  to  the  surface  by  asking  whether  he  had  not  been 
occasionally  the  subject  of  assault  and  battery  in  the  execu- 
tion of  his  duty  ? Waterloo  recovering  his  spirits,  instantly 
dashed  into  a new  branch  of  his  subject.  We  learnt  how 
“ both  these  teeth  ” — here  he  pointed  to  the  places  where  two 
front  teeth  were  not  — were  knocked  out  by  an  ugly  customer 
who  one  night  made  a dash  at  him  (Waterloo)  while  his  (the 
ugly  customer’s)  pal  and  coadjutor  made  a dash  at  the  toll- 
taking apron  where  the  money-pockets  were ; how  Waterloo, 
letting  the  teeth  go  (to  Blazes,  he  observed  indefinitely) 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


373 


grappled  with  the  apron-seizer,  permitting  the  ugly  one  to  run 
away ; and  how  he  saved  the  bank,  and  captured  his  man,  and 
consigned  him  to  fine  and  imprisonment.  Also  how,  on 
another  night,  “a  Cove  ” laid  hold  of  Waterloo,  then  presid- 
ing at  the  horse  gate  of  his  bridge,  and  threw  him  uncere- 
moniously over  his  knee,  having  first  cut  his  head  open  with 
his  whip.  How  Waterloo  “got  right,”  and  started  after  the 
Cove  all  down  the  Waterloo  Road,  through  Stamford  Street, 
and  round  to  the  foot  of  Blackfriars  Bridge,  where  the  Cove 
“ cut  into  ” a public  house.  How  Waterloo  cut  in  too ; but 
how  an  aider  and  abettor  of  the  Cove’s,  who  happened  to  be 
taking  a promiscuous  drain  at  the  bar,  stopped  Waterloo ; and 
the  Cove  cut  out  again,  ran  across  the  road  down  Holland 
Street,  and  where  not,  and  into  a beer-shop.  How  Waterloo 
breaking  away  from  his  detainer  was  close  upon  the  Cove’s 
heels,  attended  by  no  end  of  people  who,  seeing  him  running 
with  the  blood  streaming  down  his  face,  thought  something 
worse  was  “ up,”  and  roared  Eire  ! and  Murder ! on  the  hope- 
ful chance  of  the  matter  in  hand  being  one  or  both.  How  the 
Cove  was  ignominiously  taken,  in  a shed  where  he  had  run  to 
hide,  and  how.  at  the  Police  Court  they  at  first  wanted  to  make 
a sessions  job  of  it;  but  eventually  Waterloo  was  allowed  to 
be  “spoke  to,”  and  the  Cove  made  it  square  with  Waterloo  by 
paying  his  doctor’s  bill  (W.  was  laid  up  for  a week)  and  giving 
him  “ Three,  ten.”  Likewise  we  learnt  what  we  had  faintly 
suspected  before,  that  your  sporting  amateur  on  the  Derby 
day,  albeit  a captain,  can  be  — “ if  he  be,”  as  Captain  Bobadil 
observes,  “ so  generously  minded  ” — anything  but  a man  of 
honor  and  a gentleman ; not  sufficiently  gratifying  his  nice 
sense  of  humor  by  the  witty  scattering  of  flour  and  rotten 
eggs  on  obtuse  civilians,  but  requiring  the  further  excitement 
of  “bilking  the  toll,”  and  “pitching  into”  Waterloo,  and 
“ cutting  him  about  the  head  with  his  whip ; ” finally  being, 
when  called  upon  to  answer  for  the  assault,  what  Waterloo 
described  as  “ Minus,”  or,  as  I humbly  conceived  it,  not  to  be 
found.  Likewise  did  Waterloo  inform  us,  in  reply  to  my 
inquiries,  admiringly  and  deferentially  preferred  through  my 
friend  Hea,  that  the  takings  at  the  Bridge  had  more  than 
doubled  in  amount,  since  the  reduction  of  the  toll  one  half. 


374 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


And  being  asked  if  the  aforesaid  takings  included  much  bad 
money,  Waterloo  responded,  with  a look  far  deeper  than  the 
deepest  part  of  the  river,  he  should  think  not ! — and  so  retired 
into  his  shawl  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 

Then  did  Pea  and  I once  more  embark  in  our  four-oared 
galley,  and  glide  swiftly  down  the  river  with  the  tide.  And 
while  the  shrewd  East  rasped  and  notched  us,  as  with  jagged 
razors,  did  my  friend  Pea  impart  to  me  confidences  of  interest 
relating  to  the  Thames  Police ; we  betweenwhiles  finding 
“duty  boats ” hanging  in  dark  corners  under  banks,  like 
weeds  — our  own  was  a “ supervision  boat  ” — and  thsy,  as 
they  reported  “ all  right ! ” flashing  their  hidden  light  on  us, 
and  we  flashing  ours  on  them.  These  duty  boats  had  one 
sitter  in  each : an  Inspector : and  were  rowed  “ Ran-dan,” 
which  — for  the  information  of  those  who  never  graduated,  as 
I was  once  proud  to  do,  under  a fireman-waterman,  and  winner 
of  Kean?s  Prize  Wherry : who,  in  the  course  of  his  tuition, 
took  hundreds  of  gallons  of  rum  and  egg  (at  my  expense)  at 
the  various  houses  of  note  above  and  below  bridge ; not  by 
any  means  because  he  liked  it,  but  to  cure  a weakness  in  his 
liver,  for  which  the  faculty  had  particularly  recommended  it 
— may  be  explained  as  rowed  by  three  men,  two  pulling  an 
oar  each,  and  one  a pair  of  sculls. 

Thus,  floating  down  our  black  highway,  sullenly  frowned 
upon  by  the  knitted  brows  of  Blackfriars,  Southwark,  and 
London,  each  in  his  lowering  turn,  I was  shown  by  my  friend 
Pea  that  there  are,  in  the  Thames  Police  Force,  whose  district 
extends  from  Battersea  to  Barking  Creek,  ninety-eight  men, 
eight  duty  boats,  and  two  supervision  boats ; and  that  these 
go  about  so  silently,  and  lie  in  wait  in  such  dark  places,  and 
so  seem  to  be  nowhere,  and  so  may  be  anywhere,  that  they 
have  gradually  become  a polfce  of  prevention,  keeping  the 
river  almost  clear  of  any  great  crimes,  even  while  the  in- 
creased vigilance  on  shore  has  made  it  much  harder  than  of 
yore  to  live  by  “ thieving  ” in  the  streets.  And  as  to  the 
various  kinds  of  water  thieves,  said  my  friend  Pea,  there 
were  the  Tier-rangers,  who  silently  dropped  alongside  the 
tiers  of  shipping  in  the  Pool,  by  night,  and  who,  going  to 
the  companion-head,  listened  for  two  snores  — snore  number 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


375 


one,  the  skipper’s ; snore  number  two,  the  mate’s  — mates  and 
skippers  always  snoring  great  guns,  and  being  dead  sure  to 
be  hard  at  it  if  they  had  turned  in  and  were  asleep.  Hearing 
the  double  fire,  down  went  the  Rangers  into  the  skippers’ 
cabins ; groped  for  the  skippers’  inexpressibles,  which  it  was 
the  custom  of  those  gentlemen  to  shake  off,  watch,  money, 
braces,  boots,  and  all  together,  on  the  floor ; and  therewith 
made  off  as  silently  as  might  be.  Then  there  were  the 
Lumpers,  or  laborers  employed  to  unload  vessels.  They  wore 
loose  canvas  jackets  with  a broad  hem  in  the  bottom,  turned 
inside,  so  as  to  form  a large  circular  pocket  in  which  they 
could  conceal,  like  clowns  in  pantomimes,  packages  of  surpris- 
ing sizes.  A great  deal  of  property  was  stolen  in  this  manner 
(Pea  confided  to  me)  from  steamers ; first,  because  steamers 
carry  a larger  number  of  small  packages  than  other  ships  ; 
next,  because  of  the  extreme  rapidity  with  which  they  are 
obliged  to  be  unladen  for  their  return  voyages.  The  Lumpers 
dispose  of  their  booty  easily  to  marine  store  dealers,  and  the 
only  remedy  to  be  suggested  is  that  marine  store  shops  should 
be  licensed,  and  thus  brought  under  the  eye  of  the  police  as 
rigidly  as  public-houses.  Lumpers  also  smuggle  goods  ashore 
for  the  crews  of  vessels.  The  smuggling  of  tobacco  is  so 
considerable,  that  it  is  well  worth  the  while  of  the  sellers  of 
smuggled  tobacco  to  use  hydraulic  presses,  to  squeeze  a single 
pound  into  a package  small  enough  to  be  contained  in  an 
ordinary  pocket.  Next,  said  my  friend  Pea,  there  were  the 
Truckers  — less  thieves  than  smugglers,  whose  business  it  was 
to  land  more  considerable  parcels  of  goods  than  the  Lumpers 
could  manage.  They  sometimes  sold  articles  of  grocery,  and 
so  forth,  to  the  crews,  in  order  to  cloak  their  real  calling,  and 
get  aboard  without  suspicion.  Many  of  them  had  boats  of 
their  own,  and  made  money.  Besides  these,  there  were  the 
Dredgermen,  who,  under  jpretence  of  dredging  up  coals  and 
such  like  from  the  bottom  of  the  river,  hung  about  barges  and 
other  undecked  craft,  and  when  they  saw  an  opportunity, 
threw  any  property  they  could  lay  their  hands  on  overboard : 
in  order  slyly  to  dredge  it  up  when  the  vessel  was  gone. 
Sometimes,  they  dexterously  used  their  dredges  to  whip  away 
anything  that  might  lie  within  reach.  Some  of  them  were 


376 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE . 


mighty  neat  at  this,  and  the  accomplishment  was  called  dry 
dredging.  Then,  there  was  a vast  deal  of  property,  such  as 
copper  nails,  sheathing,  hardwood,  etc.,  habitually  brought 
away  by  shipwrights  and  other  workmen  from  their  employers’ 
yards,  and  disposed  of  to  marine  store  dealers,  many  of  whom 
escaped  detection  through  hard  swearing,  and  their  extraor- 
dinary artful  ways  of  accounting  for  the  possession  of  stolen 
property.  Likewise,  there  were  special-pleading  practitioners, 
for  whom  barges  “ drifted  away  of  their  own  selves  ” — they 
having  no  hand  in  it,  except  first  cutting  them  loose,  and 
afterwards  plundering  them  — innocents,  meaning  no  harm, 
who  had  the  misfortune  to  observe  those  foundlings  wander- 
ing about  the  Thames. 

We  were  now  going  in  and  out,  with  little  noise  and  great 
nicety,  among  the  tiers  of  shipping,  whose  many  hulls,  lying 
close  together,  rose  out  of  the  water  like  black  streets.  Here 
and  there,  a Scotch,  an  Irish,  or  a foreign  steamer,  getting  up 
her  steam  as  the  tide  made,  looked,  with  her  great  chimney 
and  high  sides,  like  a quiet  factory  among  the  common  build- 
ings. How,  the  streets  opened  into  clearer  spaces,  now  con- 
tracted into  alleys ; but  the  tiers  were  so  like  houses,  in  the 
dark,  that  I could  almost  have  believed  myself  in  the  narrower 
by-ways  of  Venice.  Everything  was  wonderfully  still ; for, 
it  wanted  full  three  hours  of  flood,  and  nothing  seemed  awake 
but  a dog  here  and  there. 

So  we  took  no  Tier-rangers  captive,  nor  any  Lumpers,  nor 
Truckers,  nor  Dredgermen,  nor  other  evil-disposed  person  or 
persons ; but  went  ashore  at  Wapping,  where  the  old  Thames 
Police  office  is  now  a station-house,  and  where  the  old  Court, 
with  its  cabin  windows  looking  on  the  river,  is  a quaint 
charge  room : with  nothing  worse  in  it  usually  than  a stuffed 
cat  in  a glass  case,  and  a portrait,  pleasant  to  behold,  of  a rare 
old  Thames  Police  officer,  Mr.  Superintendent  Evans,  now 
succeeded  by  his  son.  We  looked  over  the  charge  books, 
admirably  kept,  and  found  the  prevention  so  good,  that  there 
were  not  five  hundred  entries  (including  drunken  and  disor- 
derly) in  a whole  year.  Then,  we  look  into  the  store-room ; 
where  there  was  an  oakum  smell,  and  a nautical  seasoning  of 
dreadnought  clothing,  rope  yarn,  boat-hooks,  sculls  and  oars, 


DOWN  WITH  THE  TIDE. 


377 


spare  stretchers,  rudders,  pistols,  cutlasses,  and  the  like.  Then, 
into  the  cell,  aired  high  up  in  the  wooden  wall  through  an 
opening  like  a kitchen  plate-rack  : wherein  there  was  a drunken 
man,  not  at  all  warm,  and  very  wishful  to  know  if  it  were 
morning  yet.  Then,  into  a better  sort  of  watch  and  ward 
room,  where  there  was  a squadron  of  stone  bottles  drawn  up, 
ready  to  be  filled  with  hot  water  and  applied  to  any  unfortu- 
nate creature  who  might  be  brought  in  apparently  drowned. 
Finally,  we  shook  hands  with  our  worthy  friend  Pea,  and  ran 
all  the  way  to  Tower  Hill,  under  strong  Police  suspicion  occa- 
sionally, before  we  got  warm. 


A WALK  IN  A WORKHOUSE. 


On  a certain  Sunday,  I formed  one  of  the  congregation 
assembled  in  the  chapel  of  a large  metropolitan  Workhouse. 
With  the  exception  of  the  clergyman  and  clerk,  and  a very  few 
officials,  there  were  none  but  paupers  present.  The  children 
sat  in  the  galleries ; the  women  in  the  body  of  the  chapel,  and 
in  one  of  the  side  aisles ; the  men  in  the  remaining  aisle. 
The  service  was  decorously  performed,  though  the  sermon 
might  have  been  much  better  adapted  to  the  comprehension 
and  to  the  circumstances  of  the  hearers.  The  usual  supplica- 
tions were  offered,  with  more  than  the  usual  significancy  in 
such  a place,  for  the  fatherless  children  and  widows,  for  all 
sick  persons  and  young  children,  for  all  that  were  desolate  and 
oppressed,  for  the  comforting  and  helping  of  the  weak-hearted, 
for  the  raising-up  of  them,  that  had  fallen ; for  all  that  were 
in  danger,  necessity,  and  tribulation.  The  prayers  of  the  con- 
gregation were  desired  “for  several  persons  in  the  various 
wards  dangerously  ill ; ” and  others  who  were  recovering  re- 
turned their  thanks  to  Heaven. 

Among  this  congregation,  were  some  evil-looking  young 
women,  and  beetle-browed  young  men;  but  not  many  — per- 
haps that  kind  of  characters  kept  away.  Generally,  the  faces 
(those  of  the  children  excepted)  were  depressed  and  subdued, 
and  wanted  color.  Aged  people  were  there,  in  every  variety. 
Mumbling,  blear-eyed,  spectacled,  stupid,  deaf,  lame ; vacantly 
winking  in  the  gleams  of  sun  that  now  and  then  crept  in 
through  the  open  doors,  from  the  paved  yard ; shading  their 
listening  ears,  or  blinking  eyes,  with  their  withered  hands ; 
poring  over  their  books,  leering  at  nothing,  going  to  sleep, 
crouching  and  drooping  in  corners.  There  were  weird  old 
women,  all  skeleton  within,  all  bonnet  and  cloak  without,  con- 
tinually wiping  their  eyes  with  dirty  dusters  of  pocket  hand- 

378 


A WALK  IN  A WORK  HO  U SE. 


379 


kerchiefs ; and  there  were  ugly  old  crones,  both  male  and 
female,  with  a ghastly  kind  of  contentment  upon  them  which 
was  not  at  all  comforting  to  see.  Upon  the  whole,  it  was  the 
dragon,  Pauperism,  in  a very  weak  and  impotent  condition  ; 
toothless,  fangless,  drawing  his  breath  heavily  enough,  and 
hardly  worth  chaining  up. 

When  the  service  was  over,  I walked  with  the  humane  and 
conscientious  gentleman  whose  duty  it  was  to  take  that  walk, 
that  Sunday  morning,  through  the  little  world  of  poverty 
enclosed  within  the  workhouse  walls.  It  was  inhabited  by  a 
population  of  some  fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand  paupers, 
ranging  from  the  infant  newly  born  or  not  yet  come  into  the 
pauper  world,  to  the  old  man  dying  on  his  bed. 

In  a room  opening  from  a squalid  yard,  where  a number  of 
listless  women  were  lounging  to  and  fro,  trying  to  get  warm 
in  the  ineffectual  sunshine  of  the  tardy  May  morning  — in  the 
“ Itch  Ward/’  not  to  compromise  the  truth  — a woman  such 
as  Hogarth  has  often  drawn,  was  hurriedly  getting  on  her 
gown  before  a dusty  fire.  She  was  the  nurse,  or  wardswoman, 
of  that  insalubrious  department  — herself  a pauper  — flabby, 
raw-boned,  untidy  — unpromising  and  coarse  of  aspect  as  need 
be.  But,  on  being  spoken  to  about  the  patients  whom  she 
had  in  charge,  she  turned  round,  with  her  shabby  gown  half 
on,  half  off,  and  fell  a crying  with  all  her  might.  Not  for 
show,  not  querulously,  not  in  any  mawkish  sentiment,  but  in 
the  deep  grief  and  affliction  of  her  heart ; turning  away  her 
dishevelled  head : sobbing  most  bitterly,  wringing  her  hands, 
and  letting  fall  abundance  of  great  tears,  that  choked  her 
utterance.  What  was  the  matter  with  the  nurse  of  the  itch- 
ward  ? Oh,  “ the  dropped  child  ” was  dead ! Oh,  the  child 
that  was  found  in  the  street,  and  she  had  brought  up  ever 
since,  had  died  an  hour  ago,  and  see  where  the  little  creature 
lay,  beneath  this  cloth  ! The  dear,  the  pretty  dear ! 

The  dropped  child  seemed  too  small  and  poor  a thing  for 
Death  to  be  in  earnest  with,  but  Death  had  taken  it;  and 
already  its  diminutive  form  was  neatly  washed,  composed,  and 
stretched  as  if  in  sleep  upon  a box.  I thought  I heard  a voice 
from  Heaven  saying,  It  shall  be  well  for  thee,  0 nurse  of  the 
itch-ward,  when  some  less  gentle  pauper  does  those  offices  to 


380 


A WALK  IN  A WORKHOUSE. 


thy  cold  form,  that  such  as  the  dropped  child  are  the  angels 
who  behold  my  Father’s  face  ! 

In  another  room,  were  several  ugly  old  women  crouching, 
witch-like,  round  a hearth,  and  chattering  and  nodding,  after 
the  manner  of  the  monkeys.  “ All  well  here  ? And  enough 
to  eat  ? ” A general  chattering  and  chuckling ; at  last  an 
answer  from  a volunteer.  “ Oh  yes,  gentleman  ! Bless  you 
gentleman  ! Lord  bless  the  parish  of  St.  So-and-So  ! It  feed 
the  hungry,  Sir,  and  give  drink  to  the  thusty,  and  it  warm 
them  which  is  cold,  so  it  do,  and  good  luck  to  the  parish  of 
St.  So-and-So,  and  thankee  gentleman ! ” Elsewhere,  a party 
of  pauper  nurses  were  at  dinner.  “How  do  you  get  on?” 
“Oh  pretty  well,  Sir!  We  works  hard,  and  we  lives  hard  — 
like  the  sodgers  ! ” 

In  another  room,  a kind  of  purgatory  or  place  of  transition, 
six  or  eight  noisy  madwomen  were  gathered  together,  under 
the  superintendence  of  one  sane  attendant.  Among  them  was 
a girl  of  two  or  three  and  twenty,  very  prettily  dressed,  of 
most  respectable  appearance,  and  good  manners,  who  had  been 
brought  in  from  the  house  where  she  had  lived  as  domestic 
servant  (having,  I suppose,  no  friends),  on  account  of  being 
subject  to  epileptic  fits,  and  requiring  to  be  removed  under  the 
influence  of  a very  bad  one.  She  was  by  no  means  of  the 
same  stuff,  or  the  same  breeding,  or  the  same  experience,  or 
in  the  same  state  of  mind,  as  those  by  whom  she  was  sur- 
rounded ; and  she  pathetically  complained  that  the  daily 
association  and  the  nightly  noise  made  her  worse,  and  was 
driving  her  mad  — which  was  perfectly  evident.  The  case 
was  noted  for  inquiry  and  redress,  but  she  said  she  had 
already  been  there  for  some  weeks. 

If  this  girl  had  stolen  her  mistress’s  watch,  I do  not  hesitate 
to  say  she  would  have  been  infinitely  better  off.  We  have 
come  to  this  absurd,  this  dangerous,  this  monstrous  pass,  that 
the  dishonest  felon  is,  in  respect  of  cleanliness,  order,  diet,  and 
accommodation,  better  provided  for,  and  taken  care  of,  than 
the  honest  pauper. 

And  this  conveys  no  special  imputation  on  the  workhouse  of 
the  parish  of  St.  So-and-So,  where,  on  the  contrary,  I saw 
many  things  to  commend.  It  was  very  agreeable,  recollecting 


A WALK  IN  A WORKHOUSE. 


381 


that  most  infamous  and  atrocious  enormity  committed  at  Toot- 
ing— an  enormity  which,  a hundred  years  hence,  will  still 
be  vividly  remembered  in  the  by-ways  of  English  life,  and 
which  has  done  more  to  engender  a gloomy  discontent  and 
suspicion  among  many  thousands  of  the  people  than  all  the 
Chartist  leaders  could  have  done  in  all  their  lives  — to  find  the 
pauper  children  in  this  workhouse  looking  robust  and  well, 
and  apparently  the  objects  of  very  great  care.  In  the  Infant 
School  — a large,  light,  airy  room  at  the  top  of  the  building  — 
the  little  creatures,  being  at  dinner,  and  eating  their  potatoes 
heartily,  were  not  cowed  by  the  presence  of  strange  visitors, 
but  stretched  out  their  small  hands  to  be  shaken,  with  a very 
pleasant  confidence.  And  it  was  comfortable  to  see  two 
mangey  pauper  rocking-horses  rampant  in  a corner.  In  the 
girls*  school,  where  the  dinner  was  also  in  progress,  everything 
bore  a cheerful  and  healthy  aspect.  The  meal  was  over,  in 
the  boys*  school,  by  the  time  of  our  arrival  there,  and  the 
room  was  not  yet  quite  re-arranged ; but  the  boys  were 
roaming  unrestrained  about  a large  and  airy  yard,  as  any 
other  schoolboys  might  have  done.  Some  of  them  had  been 
drawing  large  ships  upon  the  schoolroom  wall;  and  if  they 
had  a mast  with  shrouds  and  stays  set  up  for  practice  (as  they 
have  in  the  Middlesex  House  of  Correction),  it  would  be  so 
much  the  better.  At  present,  if  a boy  should  feel  a strong 
impulse  upon  him  to  learn  the  art  of  going  aloft,  he  could 
only  gratify  it,  I presume,  as  the  men  and  women  paupers 
gratify  their  aspirations  after  better  board  and  lodging,  by 
smashing  as  many  workhouse  windows  as  possible,  and  being 
promoted  to  prison. 

In  one  place,  the  Newgate  of  the  Workhouse,  a company  of 
boys  and  youths  were  locked  up  in  a yard  alone ; their  day- 
room  being  a kind  of  kennel  where  the  casual  poor  used 
formerly  to  be  littered  down  at  night.  Divers  of  them  had 
been  there  some  long  time.  “ Are  they  never  going  away  ? ** 
was  the  natural  inquiry.  “Most  of  them  are  crippled,  in 
some  form  or  other,**  said  the  Wardsman,  “and  not  fit  for 
anything.**  They  slunk  about,  like  dispirited  wolves  or 
hyaenas  ; and  made  a pounce  at  their  food  when  it  was  served 
out,  much  as  those  animals  do.  The  big-headed  idiot  shuffling 


382 


A WALK  IK  A WORKHOUSE. 


his  feet  along  the  pavement,  in  the  sunlight  outside,  was  a 
more  agreeable  object  everyway. 

Groves  of  babies  in  arms  ; groves  of  mothers  and  other 
sick  women  in  bed;  groves  of  lunatics;  jungles  of  men  in 
stone-paved  down-stairs  day-rooms,  waiting  for  their  dinners  ; 
longer  and  longer  groves  of  old  people,  in  up-stairs  Infirmary 
wards,  wearing  out  life,  God  knows  how  — this  was  the  scenery 
through  which  the  walk  lay,  for  two  hours.  In  some  of  these 
latter  chambers,  there  were  pictures  stuck  against  the  wall, 
and  a neat  display  of  crockery  and  pewter  on  a kind  of  side- 
board ; now  and  then  it  was  a treat  to  see  a plant  or  two ; in 
almost  every  ward  there  was  a cat. 

In  all  of  these  Long  Walks  of  aged  and  infirm,  some  old 
people  were  bed-ridden,  and  had  been  for  a long  time ; some 
were  sitting  on  their  beds  half-naked;  some  dying  in  their 
beds ; some  out  of  bed,  and  sitting  at  a table  near  the  fire. 
A sullen  or  lethargic  indifference  to  what  was  asked,  a blunted 
sensibility  to  everything  but  warmth  and  food,  a moody 
absence  of  complaint  as  being  of  no  use,  a dogged  silence 
and  resentful  desire  to  be  left  alone  again,  I thought  were 
generally  apparent.  On  our  walking  into  the  midst  of  one 
of  these  dreary  perspectives  of  old  men,  nearly  the  following 
little  dialogue  took  place,  the  nurse  not  being  immediately 
at  hand : 

“ All  well  here  ? ” 

No  answer.  An  old  man  in  a Scotch  cap  sitting  among 
others  on  a form  at  the  table,  eating  out  of  a tin  porringer, 
pushes  back  his  cap  a little  to  look  at  us,  claps  it  down  on  his 
forehead  again  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  goes  on 
eating. 

“All  well  here  ? ” (repeated.) 

No  answer.  Another  old  man  sitting  on  his  bed,  paralyti- 
cally  peeling  a boiled  potato,  lifts  his  head,  and  stares. 

“ Enough  to  eat  ? ” 

No  answer.  Another  old  man,  in  bed,  turns  himself  and 
coughs. 

“ How  are  you  to-day  ? ” To  the  last  old  man. 

That  old  man  says  nothing ; but  another  old  man,  a tall 
old  man  of  very  good  address,  speaking  with  perfect  correct- 


A WALK  IN  A WORKHOUSE. 


383 


ness,  comes  forward  from  somewhere,  and  volunteers  an 
answer.  The  reply  almost  always  proceeds  from  a volunteer 
and  not  from  the  person  looked  at  or  spoken  to. 

“We  are  very  old,  Sir,”  in  a mild,  distinct  voice.  “We 
can’t  expect  to  be  well,  most  of  us.” 

“ Are  you  comfortable  ? ” 

“ I have  no  complaint  to  make,  Sir.”  With  a half  shake 
of  his  head,  a half  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  and  a kind  of 
apologetic  smile. 

“ Enough  to  eat  ? ” 

“Why,  Sir,  I have  but  a poor  appetite,”  with  the  same 
air  as  before;  “and  yet  I get  through  my  allowance  very 
easily.” 

“But,”  showing  a porringer  with  a Sunday  dinner  in  it, 
“ here  is  a portion  of  mutton,  and  three  potatoes.  You  can’t 
starve  on  that  ? ” 

“Oh  dear  no,  Sir,”  with  the  same  apologetic  air.  “Not 
starve.” 

“ What  do  you  want  ? ” 

“ We  have  very  little  bread,  Sir.  It’s  an  exceedingly  small 
quantity  of  bread.” 

The  nurse,  who  is  now  rubbing  her  hands  at  the  ques- 
tioner’s elbow,  interferes  with,  “ It  ain’t  much  raly,  Sir. 
You  see  they’ve  only  six  ounces  a day,  and  when  they’ve 
took  their  breakfast,  there  can  only  be  a little  left  for  night, 
Sir.” 

Another  old  man,  hitherto  invisible,  rises  out  of  his  bed- 
clothes, as  out  of  a grave,  and  looks  on. 

“You  have  tea  at  night  ? ” The  questioner  is  still  address- 
ing the  well-spoken  old  man. 

“ Yes,  Sir,  we  have  tea  at  night.” 

“ And  you  save  what  bread  you  can  from  the  morning,  to 
eat  with  it  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Sir  — if  we  can  save  any.” 

“ And  you  want  more  to  eat  with  it  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Sir.”  With  a very  anxious  face. 

The  questioner,  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  appears  a little 
discomposed,  and  changes  the  subject. 


I 


384  A WALK  IN  A WORKHOUSE. 

“ What  has  become  of  the  old  man  who  used  to  lie  in  that 
bed  in  the  corner  ? ” 

The  nurse  don’t  remember  what  old  man  is  referred  to. 
There  has  been  such  a many  old  men.  The  well-spoken  old 
man  is  doubtful.  The  spectral  old  man  who  has  come  to 
life  in  bed,  says,  “ Billy  Stevens.”  Another  old  man  who 
has  previously  had  his  head  in  the  fire-place,  pipes  out : 

“ Charley  Walters.” 

Something  like  a feeble  interest  is  awakened.  I suppose 
Charley  Walters  had  conversation  in  him. 

“ He’s  dead,”  says  the  piping  old  man. 

Another  old  man,  with  one  eye  screwed  up,  hastily  dis- 
places the  piping  old  man,  and  says : 

“Yes  ! Charley  Walters  died  in  that  bed,  and  — and  — ” 

“ Billy  Stevens,”  persists  the  spectral  old  man. 

“No,  no  ! and  Johnny  Rogers  died  in  that  bed,  and  — and 
— they’re  both  on  ’em  dead  — and  Sam’l  Bowyer;”  this 
seems  very  extraordinary  to  him ; “ he  went  out ! ” 

With  this  he  subsides,  and  all  the  old  men  (having  had 
quite  enough  of  it)  subside,  and  the  spectral  old  man  goes 
into  his  grave  again,  and  takes  the  shade  of  Billy  Stevens 
with  him. 

As  we  turn  to  go  out  at  the  door,  another  previously  in- 
visible old  man,  a hoarse  old  man  in  a flannel  gown,  is  stand- 
ing there,  as  if  he  had  just  come  up  through  the  floor. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  Sir,  could  I take  the  liberty  of  saying  a 
word  ? ” 

“Yes  ; what  is  it  ? ” 

“ I am  greatly  better  in  my  health,  Sir ; but  what  I want, 
to  get  me  quite  round,”  with  his  hand  on  his  throat,  “is  a 
little  fresh  air,  Sir.  It  has  always  done  my  complaint  so 
much  good,  Sir.  The  regular  leave  for  going  out,  comes 
round  so  seldom,  that  if  the  gentlemen,  next  Friday,  would 
give  me  leave  to  go  out  walking,  now  and  then  — for  only  an 
hour  or  so,  Sir  ! — ” 

Who  could  wonder,  looking  through  those  weary  vistas  of 
bed  and  infirmity,  that  it  should  do  him  good  to  meet  with 
some  other  scenes,  and  assure  himself  that  there  was  some- 
thing else  on  earth  ? Who  could  help  wondering  why  the 


A WALK  IN  A WORKHOUSE. 


385 


old  men  lived  on  as  they  did  ; what  grasp  they  had  on  life  ; 
what  crumbs  of  interest  or  occupation  they  could  pick  up 
from  its  bare  board ; whether  Charley  Walters  had  ever  de- 
scribed to  them  the  days  when  he  kept  company  with  some 
old  pauper  woman  in  the  bud,  or  Billy  Stevens  ever  told  them 
of  the  time  when  he  was  a dweller  in  the  far-off  foreign  land 
called  Home ! 

The  morsel  of  burnt  child,  lying  in  another  room,  so 
patiently,  in  bed,  wrapped  in  lint,  and  looking  steadfastly  at  us 
with  his  bright  quiet  eyes  when  we  spoke  to  him  kindly, 
looked  as  if  the  knowledge  of  these  things,  and  of  all  the 
tender  things  there  are  to  think  about,  might  have  been  in  his 
mind  — as  if  he  thought,  with  us,  that  there  was  a fellow-feel- 
ing in  the  pauper  nurses  which  appeared  to  make  them  more 
kind  to  their  charges  than  the  race  of  common  nurses  in  the 
hospitals  — as  if  he  mused  upon  the  Future  of  some  older 
children  lying  around  him  in  the  same  place,  and  thought  it 
best,  perhaps,  all  things  considered,  that  he  should  die  — as 
if  he  knew,  without  fear,  of  those  many  coffins,  made  and  un- 
made, piled  up  in  the  store  below — and  of  his  unknown 
friend,  “the  dropped  child,”  calm  upon  the  box-lid  covered 
with  a cloth.  But  there  was  something  wistful  and  appealing, 
too,  in  his  tiny  face,  as  if,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  hard  neces- 
sities and  incongruities  he  pondered  on,  he  pleaded,  in  behalf 
of  the  helpless  and  the  aged  poor,  for  a little  more  liberty  — 
and  a little  more  bread. 


vol.  ii — 25 


PRINCE  BULL.  A FAIRY  TALE. 


Once  upon  a time,  and  of  course  it  was  in  the  Golden  Age, 
and  I hope  you  may  know  when  that  was,  for  I am  sure  I 
don’t,  though  I have  tried  hard  to  find  out,  there  lived  in  a 
rich  and  fertile  country,  a powerful  Prince  whose  name  was 
Bull.  He  had  gone  through  a great  deal  of  fighting,  in  his 
time,  about  all  sorts  of  things,  including  nothing;  but,  had 
gradually  settled  down  to  be  a steady,  peaceable,  good-natured, 
corpulent,  rather  sleepy  Prince. 

This  Puissant  Prince  was  married  to  a lovely  Princess 
whose  name  was  Fair  Freedom.  She  had  brought  him  a 
large  fortune,  and  had  borne  him  an  immense  number  of 
children,  and  had  set  them  to  spinning,  and  farming,  and 
engineering,  and  soldiering,  and  sailoring,  and  doctoring,  and 
lawyering,  and  preaching,  and  all  kinds  of  trades.  The  coffers 
of  Prince  Bull  were  full  of  treasure,  his  cellars  were  crammed 
with  delicious  wines  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  the  richest 
gold  and  silver  plafe  that  ever  was  seen  adorned  his  side- 
boards, his  sons  were  strong,  his  daughters  were  handsome, 
and  in  short  you  might  have  supposed  that  if  there  ever  lived 
upon  earth  a fortunate  and  happy  Prince,  the  name  of  that 
Prince,  take  him  for  all  in  all,  was  assuredly  Prince  Bull. 

But  appearances,  as  we  all  know,  are  not  always  to  be 
trusted  — far  from  it ; and  if  they  had  led  you  to  this  conclu- 
sion respecting  Prince  Bull,  they  would  have  led  you  wrong 
as  they  often  have  led  me. 

For,  this  good  Prince  had  two  sharp  thorns  in  his  pillow, 
two  hard  knobs  in  his  crown,  two  heavy  loads  on  his  mind, 
two  unbridled  nightmares  in  his  sleep,  two  rocks  ahead  in  his 
course.  He  could  not  by  any  means  get  servants  to  suit  him, 
and  he  had  a tyrannical  old  godmother  whose  name  was  Tape. 

She  was  a Fairy,  this  Tape,  and  was  a bright  red  all  over. 

386 


PRINCE  BULL.  A FAIRY  TALE. 


387 


She  was  disgustingly  prim  and  formal,  and  could  never  bend 
herself  a hair’s  breadth  this  way  or  that  way,  out  of  her  nat- 
urally crooked  shape.  But,  she  was  very  potent  in  her  wicked 
art.  She  could  stop  the  fastest  thing  in  the  world,  change  the 
strongest  thing  into  the  weakest,  and  the  most  useful  into  the 
most  useless.  To  do  this  she  had  only  to  put  her  cold  hand 
upon  it,  and  repeat  her  own  name,  Tape.  Then  it  withered 
away. 

At  the  Court  of  Prince  Bull  — at  least  I don’t  mean  literally 
at  his  court,  because  he  was  a very  genteel  Prince,  and  readily 
yielded  to  his  godmother  when  she  always  reserved  that  for 
his  hereditary  Lords  and  Ladies  — in  the  dominions  of  Prince 
Bull,  among  the  great  mass  of  the  community  who  were  called 
in  the  language  of  that  polite  country  the  Mobs  and  the  Snobs, 
were  a number  of  very  ingenious  men,  who  were  always  busy 
with  some  invention  or  other,  for  promoting  the  prosperity  of 
the  Prince’s  subjects,  and  augmenting  the  Prince’s  power. 
But,  whenever  they  submitted  their  models  for  the  Prince’s 
approval,  his  godmother  stepped  forward,  laid  her  hand  upon 
them,  and  said  “ Tape.”  Hence  it  came  to  pass,  that  when 
any  particularly  good  discovery  was  made,  the  discoverer  usu- 
ally carried  it  off  to  some  other  Prince,  in  foreign  parts,  who 
had  no  old  godmother  who  said  Tape.  This  was  not  on  the 
whole  an  advantageous  state  of  things  for  Prince  Bull,  to  the 
best  of  my  understanding. 

The  worst  of  it,  was,  that  Prince  Bull  had  in  course  of  years 
lapsed  into  such  a state  of  subjection  to  this  unlucky  god- 
mother, that  he  never  made  any  serious  effort  to  rid  himself 
of  her  tyranny.  I have  said  this  was  the  worst  of  it,  but  there 
I was  wrong,  because  there  is  a worse  consequence  still,  be- 
hind. The  Prince’s  numerous  family  became  so  downright 
sick  and  tired  of  Tape,  that  when  they  should  have  helped 
the  Prince  out  of  the  difficulties  into  which  fh-ak  evil  creature 
led  him,  they  fell  into  a dangerous  habit  of  moodily  keeping 
away  from  him  in  an  impassive  and  indifferent  manner,  as 
though  they  had  quite  forgotten  that  no  harm  could  happen 
to  the  Prince  their  father,  without  its  inevitably  affecting 
themselves. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  affairs  at  the  court  of  Prince  Bull, 


388 


PRINCE  BULL . A FAIRY  TALE . 


when  this  great  Prince  found  it  necessary  to  go  to  war  with 
Prince  Bear.  He  had  been  for  some  time  very  doubtful  of  his 
servants,  who,  besides  being  indolent  and  addicted  to  enriching 
their  families  at  his  expense,  domineered  over  him  dreadfully ; 
threatening  to  discharge  themselves  if  they  were  found  the 
least  fault  with,  pretending  that  they  had  done  a wonderful 
amount  of  work  when  they  had  done  nothing,  making  the  most 
unmeaning  speeches  that  ever  were  heard  in  the  Prince’s  name, 
and  uniformly  showing  themselves  to  be  very  inefficient  in- 
deed. Though,  that  some  of  them  had  excellent  characters 
from  previous  situations  is  not  to  be  denied.  Well;  Prince 
Bull  called  his  servants  together,  and  said  to  them  one  and  all, 
“ Send  out  my  army  against  Prince  Bear.  Clothe  it,  arm  it, 
feed  it,  provide  it  with  all  necessaries  and  contingencies,  and 
I will  pay  the  piper  ! Do  your  duty  by  my  brave  troops,”  said 
the  Prince,  “ and  do  it  well,  and  I will  pour  my  treasure  out 
like  water,  to  defray  the  cost.  Who  ever  heard  me  complain 
of  money  well  laid  out ! ” Which  indeed  he  had  reason  for 
saying,  inasmuch  as  he  was  well  known  to  be  a truly  generous 
and  munificent  Prince. 

When  the  servants  heard,  those  words,  they  sent  out  the 
army  against  Prince  Bear,  and  they  set  the  army  tailors  to 
work,  and  the  army  provision  merchants,  and  the  makers  of 
guns  both  great  and  small,  and  the  gunpowder  makers,  and 
the  makers  of  ball,  shell,  and  shot;  and  they  bought;  up  all 
manner  of  stores  and  ships,  without  troubling  their  heads 
about  the  price,  and  appeared  to  be  so  busy  that  the  good 
Prince  rubbed  his  hands,  and  (using  a favorite  expression  of 
his),  said,  “It’s  all  right!”  But,  while  they  were  thus  em- 
ployed, the  Prince’s  godmother,  who  was  a great  favorite  with 
those  servants,  looked  in  upon  them  continually  all  day  long, 
and  whenever  she  popped  in  her  head  at  the  door,  said,  “How 
do  you  do,  my  children  ? What  are  you  doing  here  ? ” “ Offi- 

cial business,  godmother.”  “ Oho  ! ” says  this  wicked  Fairy. 
“ — Tape  ! ” And  then  the  business  all  went  wrong,  whatever 
it  was,  and  the  servants’  heads  became  so  addled  and  muddled 
that  they  thought  they  were  doing  wonders. 

How,  this  was  very  bad  conduct  on  the  part  of  the  vicious 
old  nuisance,  and  she  ought  to  have  been  strangled,  even  if 


PRINCE  BULL.  A FAIRY  TALE. 


389 


she  had  stopped  here ; but,  she  didn’t  stop  here,  as  you  shall 
learn.  For,  a number  of  the  Prince’s  subjects,  being  very 
fond  of  the  Prince’s  army,  who  were  the  bravest  of  men,  as- 
sembled together  and  provided  all  manner  of  eatables  and 
drinkables,  and  books  to  read,  and  clothes  to  wear,  and  tobacco 
to  smoke,  and  candles  to  burn,  and  nailed  them  up  in  great 
packing-cases,  and  put  them  aboard  a great  many  ships,  to  be 
carried  out  to  that  brave  army  in  the  cold  and  inclement  coun- 
try where  they  were  fighting  Prince  Bear.  Then,  up  comes 
this  wicked  Fairy  as  the  ships  were  weighing  anchor,  and 
says,  “ How  do  you  do,  my  children  ? What  are  you  doing 
here  ? ” — “We  are  going  with  all  these  comforts  to  the  army, 
godmother.”  — “ Oho  ! ” says  she.  “ A pleasant  voyage,  my 
darlings.  — Tape ! ” And  from  that  time  forth,  those  en- 
chanted ships  went  sailing,  against  wind  and  tide  and  rhyme 
and  reason,  round  and  round  the  world,  and  whenever  they 
touched  at  any  port  were  ordered  off  immediately,  and  could 
never  deliver  their  cargoes  anywhere. 

This,  again,  was  very  bad  conduct  on  the  part  of  the  vicious 
old  nuisance,  and  she  ought  to  have  been  strangled  for  it  if 
she  had  done  nothing  worse ; but,  she  did  something  worse 
still,  as  you  shall  learn.  For,  she  got  astride  of  an  official 
broomstick,  and  muttered  as  a spell  these  two  sentences  u On 
Her  Majesty’s  service,”  and  “I  have  the  honor  to  be,  sir,  your 
most  obedient  servant,”  and  presently  alighted  in  the  cold  and 
inclement  country  where  the  army  of  Prince  Bull  were  en- 
camped to  fight  the  army  of  Prince  Bear.  On  the  seashore  of 
that  conntry,  she  found  piled  together,  a number  of  houses  for 
the  army  to  live  in,  and  a quantity  of  provisions  for  the  army 
to  live  upon,  and  a quantity  of  clothes  for  the  army  to  wear : 
while,  sitting  in  the  mud  gazing  at  them,  were  a group  of  offi- 
cers as  red  to  look  at  as  the  wicked  old  woman  herself.  So, 
she  said  to  one  of  them,  “ Who  are  you,  my  darling,  and  how 
do  you  do?”  — “I  am  the  Quartermaster  General’s  Depart- 
ment, godmother,  and  I am  pretty  well.”  — Then  she  said  to 
another,  “Who  are  you , my  darling,  and  how  do  you  do  ? ” — 
“I  am  the  Commissariat  Department,  godmother,  and  I am 
pretty  well.”  Then  she  said  to  another,  “ Who  are  you , my 
darling,  and  how  do  you  do  ? ” — “I  am  the  head  of  the  Medfi 


390 


PRINCE  BULL . A FAIRY  TALE. 


cal  Department,  godmother,  and  I am  pretty  well.”  Then,  she 
said  to  some  gentlemen  scented  with  lavender,  who  kept  them- 
selves at  a great  distance  from  the  rest,  . “ And  who  are  you , 
my  pretty  pets,  and  how  do  you  do  ? ” And  they  answered, 
“ We-aw-are-the-aw-Staff-aw-Department,  godmother,  and  we 
are  very  well  indeed.”  — “I  am  delighted  to  see  you  all,  my 
beauties,”  says  this  wicked  old  Fairy,  “ — Tape  ! ” Upon  that, 
the  houses,  clothes,  and  provisions,  all  mouldered  away;  and 
the  soldiers  who  were  sound,  fell  sick ; and  the  soldiers  who 
were  sick,  died  miserably ; and  the  noble  army  of  Prince  Bull 
perished. 

When  the  dismal  news  of  his  great  loss  was  carried  to  the 
Prince,  he  suspected  his  godmother  very  much  indeed ; but,  he 
knew  that  his  servants  must  have  kept  company  with  the  ma- 
licious beldame,  and  must  have  given  way  to  her,  and  there- 
fore he  resolved  to  turn  those  servants  out  of  their  places. 
So,  he  called  to  him  a Boebuck  who  had  the  gift  of  speech, 
and  he  said,  “ Good  Boebuck,  tell  them  they  must  go.”  So, 
the  good  Boebuck  delivered  his  message,  so  like  a man  that 
you  might  have  supposed  him  to  be  nothing  but  a man,  and 
they  were  turned  out  — but,  not  without  warning,  for  that  they 
had  had  a long  time. 

And  now  comes  the  most  extraordinary  part  of  the  history 
of  this  Prince.  When  he  had  turned  out  those  servants,  of 
course  he  wanted  others.  What  was  his  astonishment  to  find 
that  in  all  his  dominions,  which  contained  no  less  than  twenty- 
seven  millions  of  people,  there  were  not  above  five-and-twenty 
servants  altogether!  They  were  so  lofty  about  it,  too,  that 
instead  of  discussing  whether  they  should  hire  themselves  as 
servants  to  Prince  Bull,  they  turned  things  topsy-turvy,  and 
considered  whether  as  a favor  they  should  hire  Prince  Bull  to 
be  their  master ! While  they  were  arguing  this  point  among 
themselves  quite  at  their  leisure,  the  wicked  old  red  Fairy 
was  incessantly  going  up  and  down,  knocking  at  the  doors  of 
twelve  of  the  oldest  of  the  five-and-twenty,  who  were  the  old- 
est inhabitants  in  all  that  country,  and  whose  united  ages 
amounted  to  one  thousand,  saying,  “ Will  you  hire  Prince  Bull 
for  your  master  ? — Will  you  hire  Prince  Bull  for  your  mas- 
ter ?”  To  which  one  answered,  “I  will  if  next  door  will;” 


PRINCE  BULL . A FAIRY  TALE . 


391 


and  another,  “ I won’t  if  over  the  way  does  ; ” and  another, 
“ I can’t  if  he,  she,  or  they,  might,  could,  would,  or  should.” 
And  all  this  time  Prince  Bull’s  affairs  were  going  to  rack  and 
ruin. 

At  last,  Prince  Bull  in  the  height  of  his  perplexity  assumed 
a thoughtful  face,  as  if  he  were  struck  by  an  entirely  new 
idea.  The  wicked  old  Fairy,  seeing  this,  was  at  his  elbow 
directly,  and  said,  “ How  do  you  do,  my  Prince,  and  what  are 
you  thinking  of?”  — “I  am  thinking,  godmother,”  says  he, 
“ that  among  all  the  seven-and-twenty  millions  of  my  subjects 
who  have  never  been  in  service,  there  are  men  of  intellect  and 
business  who  have  made  me  very  famous  both  among  my 
friends  and  enemies.”  — “ Aye,  truly  ? ” says  the  Fairy. — 
“Aye,  truly,”  says  the  Prince. — -“And  what  then?”  says  the 
Fairy.  — “ Why,  then,”  says  he,  “ since  the  regular  old  class 
of  servants  do  so  ill,  are  so  hard  to  get,  and  carry  it  with  so 
high  a hand,  perhaps  I might  try  to  make  good  servants  of 
some  of  these.”  The  words  had  no  sooner  passed  his  lips 
than  she  returned,  chuckling,  “ You  think  so,  do  you  ? Indeed, 
my  Prince  ? — Tape  ! ” Thereupon  he  directly  forgot  what 
he  was  thinking  of,  and  cried  out  lamentably  to  the  old  ser- 
vants, “ 0,  do  come  and  hire  your  poor  old  master  ! Pray  do  ! 
On  any  terms  ! ” 

And  this,  for  the  present,  finishes  the  story  of  Prince  Bull. 
I wish  I could  wind  it  up  by  saying  that  he  lived  happy  ever 
afterwards,  but  I cannot  in  my  conscience  do  so ; for,  with 
Tape  at  his  elbow,  and  his  estranged  children  fatally  repelled 
by  her  from  coming  near  him,  I do  not,  to  tell  you  the  plain 
truth,  believe  in  the  possibility  of  such  an  end  to  it. 


A PLATED  ARTICLE. 


Putting  up  for  the  night  in  one  of  the  chiefest  towns  of 
Staffordshire,  I find  it  to  be  by  no  means  a lively  town.  In 
fact  it  is  as  dull  and  dead  a town  as  any  one  could  desire  not 
to  see.  It  seems  as  if  its  whole  population  might  be  im- 
prisoned in  its  Railway  Station.  The  Refreshment-Room  at 
that  Station  is  a vortex  of  dissipation  compared  with  the 
extinct  town-inn,  the  Dodo,  in  the  dull  High  Street. 

Why  High  Street  ? Why  not  rather  Low  Street,  Elat 
Street,  Low-Spirited  Street,  Used-up  Street  ? Where  are  the 
people  who  belong  to  the  High  Street  ? Can  they  all  be  dis- 
persed over  the  face  of  the  country,  seeking  the  unfortunate 
Strolling  Manager  who  decamped  from  the  mouldy  little 
Theatre  last  week,  in  the  beginning  of  his  season  (as  his  play- 
bills testify),  repentantly  resolved  to  bring  him  back,  and  feed 
him,  and  be  entertained?  Or,  can  they  all  be  gathered  to 
their  fathers  in  the  two  old  churchyards  near  to  the  High 
Street  — retirement  into  which  churchyards  appears  to  be  a 
mere  ceremony,  there  is  so  very  little  life  outside  their  con- 
fines, and  such  small  discernible  difference  between  being 
buried  alive  in  the  town,  and  buried  dead  in  the  town  tombs  ? 

Over  the  way,  opposite  to  the  staring  blank  bow  windows  of 
the  Dodo,  are  a little  ironmonger’s  shop,  a little  tailor’s  shop 
(with  a picture  of  the  Fashions  in  the  small  window  and  a 
bandy-legged  baby  on  the  pavement  staring  at  it)  — a watch- 
maker’s shop,  where  all  the  clocks  and  watches  must  be 
stopped,  I am  sure,  for  they  could  never  have  the  courage  to 
go,  with  the  town  in  general,  and  the  Dodo  in  particular, 
looking  at  them.  Shade  of  Miss  Linwood,  erst  of  Leicester 
Square,  London,  thou  art  welcome  here,  and  thy  retreat  is 
fitly  chosen  ! I myself  was  one  of  the  last  visitors  to  that 
awful  storehouse  of  thy  life’s  work,  where  an  anchorite  old 

392 


A PLATED  ARTICLE. 


393 


man  and  woman  took  my  shilling  with  a solemn  wonder,  and 
conducting  me  to  a gloomy  sepulchre  of  needlework  dropping 
to  pieces  with  dust  and  age  and  shrouded  in  twilight  at  high 
noon,  left  me  there,  chilled,  frightened,  and  alone.  And  now, 
in  ghostly  letters  on  all  the  dead  walls  of  this  dead  town,  I 
read  thy  honored  name,  and  find  that  thy  Last  Supper,  worked 
in  Berlin  Wool,  invites  inspection  as  a powerful  excitement ! 

Where  are  the  people  who  are  bidden  with  so  much  cry  to 
this  feast  of  little  wool  ? Where  are  they  ? Who  are  they  ? 
They  are  not  the  bandy-legged  baby  studying  the  fashions  in 
the  tailor’s  window.  They  are  not  the  two  earthly  plough- 
men lounging  outside  the  saddler’s  shop,  in  the  stiff  square 
where  the  Town  Hall  stands,  like  a brick  and  mortar  private 
on  parade.  They  are  not  the  landlady  of  the  Dodo  in  the 
empty  bar,  whose  eye  had  trouble  in  it  and  no  welcome,  when 
I asked  for  dinner.  They  are  not  the  turnkeys  of  the  Town 
Jail,  looking  out  of  the  gateway  in  their  uniforms,  as  if  they 
had  locked  up  all  the  balance  (as  my  American  friends  would 
say)  of  the  inhabitants,  and  could  now  rest  a little.  They  are 
not  the  two  dusty  millers  in  the  white  mill  down  by  the  river, 
where  the  great  water-wheel  goes  heavily  round  and  round, 
like  the  monotonous  days  and  nights  in  this  forgotten  place. 
Then  who  are  they,  for  there  is  no  one  else  ? Ho ; this  depo- 
nent maketh  oath  and  saith  that  there  is  no  one  else,  save  and 
except  the  waiter  at  the  Dodo,  now  laying  the  cloth.  I have 
paced  the  streets,  and  stared  at  the  houses,  and  am  come  back 
to  the  blank  bow  window  of  the  Dodo ; and  the  town  clocks 
strike  seven,  and  the  reluctant  echoes  seem  to  cry,  “ Don’t 
wake  us ! ” and  the  bandy-legged  baby  has  gone  home  to  bed. 

If  the  Dodo  were  only  a gregarious  bird  — if  it  had  only 
some  confused  idea  of  making  a comfortable  nest  — I could 
hope  to  get  through  the  hours  between  this  and  bed-time, 
without  being  consumed  by  devouring  melancholy.  But,  the 
Dodo’s  habits  are  all  wrong.  It  provides  me  with,  a trackless 
desert  of  sitting-room,  with  a chair  for  every  day  in  the  year, 
a table  for  every  month,  and  a waste  of  sideboard  where  a 
lonely  China  vase  pines  in  a corner  for  its  mate  long  departed, 
and  will  never  make  a match  with  the  candlestick  in  the  oppo- 
site corner  if  it  live  till  Doomsday.  The  Dodo  has  nothing  in 


394 


A PLATED  ARTICLE. 


the  larder.  Even  now,  I behold  the  boots  returning  with  my 
sole  in  a piece  of  paper ; and  with  that  portion  of  my  dinner, 
the  Boots,  perceiving  me  at  the  blank  bow  window,  slaps  his 
leg  as  he  comes  across  the  road,  pretending  it  is  something 
else.  The  Dodo  excludes  the  outer  air.  When  I mount  up  to 
my  bed-room,  a smell  of  closeness  and  flue  gets  lazily  up  my 
nose  like  sleepy  snuff.  The  loose  little  bits  of  carpet  writhe 
under  my  tread,  and  take  wormy  shapes.  I don’t  know  the 
ridiculous  man  in  the  looking-glass,  beyond  having  met  him 
once  or  twice  in  a dish-cover  — and  I can  never  shave  him  to- 
morrow morning ! The  Dodo  is  narrow-minded  as  to  towels ; 
expects  me  to  wash  on  a freemason’s  apron  without  the  trim- 
ming: when  I ask  for  soap,  gives  me  a stony-hearted  some- 
thing white,  with  no  more  lather  in  it  than  the  Elgin  marbles. 
The  Dodo  has  seen  better  days,  and  possesses  interminable 
stables  at  the  back  — silent,  grass-grown,  broken-windowed, 
horseless. 

This  mournful  bird  can  fry  a sole,  however,  which  is  much. 
Can  cook  a steak,  too,  which  is  more.  I wonder  where  it  gets 
its  sherry  I If  I were  to  send  my  pint  of  wine  to  some  famous 
chemist  to  be  analyzed,  what  would  it  turn  out  to  be  made  of  ? 
It  tastes  of  pepper,  sugar,  bitter  almonds,  vinegar,  warm 
knives,  any  flat  drink,  and  a little  brandy.  Would  it  unman 
a Spanish  exile  by  reminding  him  of  his  native  land  at  all  ? 
I think  not.  If  there  really  be  any  townspeople  out  of  the 
churchyards,  and  if  a caravan  of  them  ever  do  dine,  with  a 
bottle  of  wine  per  man,  in  this  desert  of  the  Dodo,  it  must 
make  good  for  the  doctor  next  day  ! 

Where  was  the  waiter  born  ? How  did  he  come  here  ? 
Has  he  any  hope  of  getting  away  from  here  ? Does  he  ever 
receive  a letter,  or  take  a ride  upon  the  railway,  or  see  any- 
thing but  the  Dodo  ? Perhaps  he  has  seen  the  Berlin  Wool. 
He  appears  to  have  a silent  sorrow  on  him,  and  it  may  be 
that.  He  clears  the  table ; draws  the  dingy  curtains  of  the 
great  bow  window,  which  so  unwillingly  consent  to  meet,  that 
they  must  be  pinned  together ; leaves  me  by  the  fire  with  my 
pint  decanter,  and  a little  thin  funnel-shaped  wine-glass,  and  a 
plate  of  pale  biscuits  — in  themselves  engendering  desperation. 

Ho  book,  no  newspaper!  I left  the  Arabian  Hights  in  the 


A PLATED  ARTICLE . 


395 


railway  carriage,  and  have  nothing  to  read  but  Bradshaw,  and 
“ that  way  madness  lies/’  Remembering  what  prisoners  and 
shipwrecked  mariners  have  done  to  exercise  their  minds  in 
solitude,  I repeat  the  multiplication  table,  the  pence  table, 
and  the  shilling  table : which  are  all  the  tables  I happen  to 
know.  What  if  I write  something  ? The  Dodo  keeps  no 
pens  but  steel  pens ; and  those  I always  stick  through  the 
paper,  and  can  turn  to  no  other  account. 

What  am  I to  do  ? Even  if  I could  have  the  bandy-legged 
baby  knocked  up  and  brought  here,  I could  offer  him  nothing 
but  sherry,  and  that  would  be  the  death  of  him.  He  would 
never  hold  up  his  head  again  if  he  touched  it.  I can’t  go  to 
bed,  because  I have  conceived  a mortal  hatred  for  my  bed- 
room ; and  I can’t  go  away,  because  there  is  no  train  for  my 
place  of  destination  until  morning.  To  burn  the  biscuits  will 
be  but  a fleeting  joy ; still  it  is  a temporary  relief,  and  here 
they  go  on  the  fire  ! Shall  I break  the  plate  ? First  let  me 
look  at  the  back,  and  see  who  made  it.  Copeland. 

Copeland!  Stop  a moment.  Was  it  yesterday  I visited 
Copeland’s  works,  and  saw  them  making  plates  ? In  the  con- 
fusion of  travelling  about,  it  might  be  yesterday  or  it  might 
be  yesterday  month ; but  I think  it  was  yesterday.  I appeal 
to  the  plate.  The  plate  says,  decidedly,  yesterday.  I find 
the  plate,  as  I look  at  it,  growing  into  a companion. 

Don’t  you  remember  (says  the  plate)  how  you  steamed 
away,  yesterday  morning,  in  the  bright  sun  and  the  east  wind, 
along  the  valley  of  the  sparkling  Trent  ? Don’t  you  recollect 
how  many  kilns  you  flew  past,  looking  like  the  bowls  of 
gigantic  tobacco  pipes,  cut  short  off  from  the  stem  and  turned 
upside  down  ? And  the  fires  — and  the  smoke  — and  the  roads 
made  with  bits  of  crockery,  as  if  all  the  plates  and  dishes  in 
the  civilized  world  had  been  Macadamized,  expressly  for  the 
laming  of  all  the  horses  ? Of  course  I do  ! 

And  don’t  you  remember  (says  the  plate)  how  you  alighted 
at  Stoke  — a picturesque  heap  of  houses,  kilns,  smoke,  wharves, 
canals,  and  river,  lying  (as  was  most  appropriate)  in  a basin 
— and  how,  after  climbing  up  the  sides  of  the  basin  to  look 
at  the  prospect,  you  trundled  down  again  at  a walking-match 
pace,  and  straight  proceeded  to  my  father’s,  Copeland’s,  where 


396 


A PLATED  ABTICLE. 


the  whole  of  my  family,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  are 
turned  out  upon  the  world  from  our  nursery  and  seminary, 
covering  some  fourteen  acres  of  ground?  And  don’t  you 
remember  what  we  spring  from : — heaps  of  lumps  of  clay, 
partially  prepared  and  cleaned  in  Devonshire  and  Dorsetshire, 
whence  said  clay  principally  comes  — and  hills  of  flint,  with- 
out which  we  should  want  our  ringing  sound,  and  should  never 
be  musical  ? And  as  to  the  flint,  don’t  you  recollect  that  it  is 
first  burnt  in  kilns,  and  is  then  laid  under  the  four  iron  feet 
of  a demon  slave,  subject  to  violent  stamping  fits,  who,  when 
they  come  on,  stamps  away  insanely  with  his  four  iron  legs, 
and  would  crush  all  the  flint  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet  to  powder, 
without  leaving  off  ? And  as  to  the  clay,  don’t  you  recollect 
how  it  is  put  into  mills  or  teazers,  and  is  sliced,  and  dug,  and 
cut  at,  by  endless  knives,  clogged  and  sticky,  but  persistent  — 
and  is  pressed  out  of  that  machine  through  a square  trough, 
whose  form  it  takes  — and  is  cut  off  in  square  lumps  and 
thrown  into  a vat,  and  there  mixed  with  water,  and  beaten  to 
a pulp  by  paddle-wheels — and  is  then  run  into  a rough  house, 
all  rugged  beams  and  ladders  splashed  with  white,  — superin- 
tended by  Grindoff  the  Miller  in  his  working  clothes,  all 
splashed  with  white,  — where  it  passes  through  no  end  of 
machinery-moved  sieves  all  splashed  with  white,  arranged  in 
an  ascending  scale  of  fineness  (some  so  fine,  that  three  hun- 
dred silk  threads  cross  each  other  in  a single  square  inch  of 
their ' surface),  and  all  in  a violent  state  of  ague  with  their 
teeth  forever  chattering,  and  their  bodies  forever  shivering? 
And  as  to  the  flint  again,  isn’t  it  mashed  and  mollified  and 
troubled  and  soothed,  exactly  as  rags  are  in  a paper-mill, 
until  it  is  reduced  to  a pap  so  fine  that  it  contains  no  atom 
of  “ grit  ” perceptible  to  the  nicest  taste  ? And  as  to  the 
flint  and  the  clay  together,  are  they  not,  after  all  this,  mixed 
in  the  proportion  of  five  of  clay  to  one  of  flint,  and  isn’t  the 
compound — known  as  “slip” — run  into  oblong  troughs,  where 
its  superfluous  moisture  may  evaporate  ; and  finally,  isn’t  it 
slapped  and  banged  and  beaten  and  patted  and  kneaded  and 
wedged  and  knocked  about  like  butter,  until  it  becomes  a 
beautiful  gray  dough,  ready  for  the  potter’s  use  ? 

In  regard  of  the  potter,  popularly  so  called  (says  the  plate), 


A PLATED  ABTICLE. 


397 


yon  don’t  mean  to  say  you  have  forgotten  that  a workman 
called  a Thrower  is  the  man  under  whose  hand  this  gray 
dough  takes  the  shapes  of  the  simpler  household  vessels  as 
quickly  as  the  eye  can  follow  ? You  don’t  mean  to  say  you 
cannot  call  him  up  before  you,  sitting,  with  his  attendant 
woman,  at  his  potter’s  wheel  — a disc  about  the  size  of  a 
dinner  plate,  revolving  on  two  drums  slowly  or  quickly  as  he 
wills  — who  made  you  a complete  breakfast  set  for  a bachelor, 
as  a good-humored  little  off-hand  joke  ? You  remember  how 
he  took  up  as  much  dough  as  he  wanted,  and,  throwing  it 
on  his  wheel,  in  a moment  fashioned  it  into  a teacup  — 
caught  up  more  clay  and  made  a saucer  — a larger  dab  and 
whirled  it  into  a teapot  — winked  at  a smaller  dab  and  con- 
verted it  into  the  lid  of  the  teapot,  accurately  fitting  by  the 
measurement  of  his  eye  alone  — coaxed  a middle-sized  dab  for 
two  seconds,  broke  it,  turned  it  over  at  the  rim,  and  made  a 
milkpot  — laughed,  and  turned  out  a slop-basin  — coughed, 
and  provided  for  the  sugar  ? Neither,  I think,  are  you  obliv- 
ious of  the  newer  mode  of  making  various  articles,  but  espe- 
cially basins,  according  to  which  improvement  a mould  revolves 
instead  of  a disc  ? For  you  must  remember  (says  the  plate) 
how  you  saw  the  mould  of  a little  basin  spinning  round  and 
round,  and  how  the  workman  smoothed  and  pressed  a handful 
of  dough  upon  it,  and  how  with  an  instrument  called  a profile 
(a  piece  of  wood,  representing  the  profile  of  a basin’s  foot)  he 
cleverly  scraped  and  carved  the  ring  which  makes  the  base 
of  any  such  basin,  and  then  took  the  basin  off  the  lathe  like  a 
doughey  skull-cap  to  be  dried,  and  afterwards  (in  what  is  called 
a green  state)  to  be  put  into  a second  lathe,  there  to  be  fin- 
ished and  burnished  with  a steel  burnisher  ? And  as  to  mould- 
ing in  general  (says  the  plate),  it  can’t  be  necessary  for  me 
to  remind  you  that  all  ornamental  articles,  and  indeed  all  arti- 
cles not  quite  circular,  are  made  in  moulds.  For  you  must 
remember  how  you  saw  the  vegetable  dishes,  for  example, 
being  made  in  moulds ; and  how  the  handles  of  teacups,  and 
the  spouts  of  teapots,  and  the  feet  of  tureens,  and  so  forth, 
are  all  made  in  little  separate  moulds,  and  are  each  stuck  on 
to  the  body  corporate,  of  which  it  is  destined  to  form  a part, 
with  a stuff  called  “ slag,”  as  quickly  as  you  can  recollect  it. 


398 


A PLATED  ARTICLE . 


Further,  you  learnt  — you  know  you  did  — in  the  same  visit, 
how  the  beautiful  sculptures  in  the  delicate  new  material 
called  Parian,  are  all  constructed  in  moulds  ; how,  into  that 
material,  animal  bones  are  ground  up,  because  the  phosphate 
of  lime  contained  in  bones  makes  it  translucent ; how  every- 
thing is  moulded,  before  going  into  the  fire,  one-fourth  larger 
than  it  is  intended  to  come  out  of  the  fire,  because  it  shrinks 
in  that  proportion  in  the  intense  heat ; ho  w,  when  a figure 
shrinks  unequally,  it  is  spoiled  — emerging  from  the  furnace 
a mis-shapen  birth ; a big  head  and  a little  body,  or  a little 
head  and  a big  body,  or  a Quasimodo  with  long  arms  and  short 
legs,  or  a Miss  Biffin  with  neither  legs  nor  arms  worth  men- 
tioning. 

And  as  to  the  Kilns,  in  which  the  firing  takes  place,  and  in 
which  some  of  the  more  precious  articles  are  burnt  repeatedly, 
in  various  stages  of  their  process  towards  completion,  — as  to 
the  Kilns  (says  the  plate,  warming  with  the  recollection),  if 
you  don’t  remember  them  with  a horrible  interest,  what  did 
you  ever  go  to  Copeland’s  for  ? When  you  stood  inside  of 
one  of  those  inverted  bowls  of  a Pre-Adamite  tobacco-pipe, 
looking  up  at  the  blue  sky  through  the  open  top  far  off,  as 
you  might  have  looked  up  from  a well,  sunk  under  the  centre 
of  the  pavement  of  the  Pantheon  at  Pome,  had  you  the  least 
idea  where  you  were  ? And  when  you  found  yourself  sur- 
rounded, in  that  dome-shaped  cavern,  by  innumerable  columns 
of  an  unearthly  order  of  architecture,  supporting  nothing,  and 
squeezed  close  together  as  if  a Pre-Adamite  Sampson  had 
taken  a vast  Hall  in  his  arms  and  crushed  it  into  the  smallest 
possible  space,  had  you  the  least  idea  what  they  were  ? Ho 
(says  the  plate),  of  course  not ! And  when  you  found  that 
each  of  those  pillars  was  a pile  of  ingeniously  made  vessels 
of  coarse  clay  — called  Saggers  — looking,  when  separate,  like 
raised-pies  for  the  table  of  the  mighty  giant  Blunderbore,  and 
now  all  full  of  various  articles  of  pottery  ranged  in  them  in 
baking  order,  the  bottom  of  each  vessel  serving  for  the  cover 
of  the  one  below,  and  the  whole  Kiln  rapidly  filling  with  these, 
tier  upon  tier,  until  the  last  workman  should  have  barely  room 
to  crawl  out,  before  the  closing  of  the  jagged  aperture  in  the 
wall  and  the  kindling  of  the  gradual  fire ; did  you  not  stand 


A PLATED  ARTICLE. 


399 


amazed  to  think  that  all  the  year  round  these  dread  chambers 
are  heating,  white  hot  — and  cooling — and  filling  — and  emp- 
tying — and  being  bricked  up  — and  broken  open  — humanely 
speaking,  forever  and  ever  ? To  be  sure  you  did ! And  stand- 
ing in  one  of  those  Kilns  nearly  full,  and  seeing  a free  crow 
shoot  across  the  aperture  a-top,  and  learning  how  the  fire 
would  wax  hotter  and  hotter  by  slow  degrees,  and  would  cool 
similarly  through  a space  of  some  forty  to  sixty  hours,  did  no 
remembrance  of  the  days  when  human  clay  was  burnt  oppress 
you  ? Yes,  I think  so  ! I suspect  that  some  fancy  of  a fiery 
haze  and  a shortening  breath,  and  a growing  heat,  and  a gasp- 
ing prayer  ; and  a figure  in  black  interposing  between  you  and 
the  sky  (as  figures  in  black  are  very  apt  to  do),  and  looking 
down,  before  it  grew  too  hot  to  look  and  live,  upon  the  Heretic 
in  his  edifying  agony  — I say  I suspect  (says  the  plate)  that 
some  such  fancy  was  pretty  strong  upon  you  when  you  went 
out  into  the  air,  and  blessed  God  for  the  bright  spring  day  and 
the  degenerate  times  ! 

After  that,  I needn’t  remind  you  what  a relief  it  was  to  see 
the  simplest  process  of  ornamenting  this  “ biscuit  ” (as  it  is 
called  when  baked)  with  brown  circles  and  blue  trees  — con- 
verting it  into  the  common  crockery-ware  that  is  exported,  to 
Africa,  and  used  in  cottages  at  home.  For  (says  the  plate) 
I am  well  persuaded  that  you  bear  in  mind  how  those  par- 
ticular jugs  and  mugs  were  once  more  set  upon  a lathe  and 
put  in  motion  ; and  how  a man  blew  the  brown  color  (having 
a strong  natural  affinity  with  the  material  in  that  condition) 
on  them  from  a blowpipe  as  they  twirled ; and  how  his  daugh- 
ter, with  a common  brush,  dropped  blotches  of  blue  upon  them 
in  the  right  places  ; and  how,  tilting  the  blotches  upside  down, 
she  made  them  run  into  rude  images  of  trees,  and  there  an 
end. 

And  didn’t  you  see  (says  the  plate)  planted  upon  my  own 
brother  that  astounding  blue  willow,  with  knobbed  and  gnarled 
trunk,  and  foliage  of  blue  ostrich  feathers,  which  gives  our 
family  the  title  of  “ willow  pattern  ? ” And  didn’t  you  observe, 
transferred  upon  him  at  the  same  time,  that  blue  bridge  which 
spans  nothing,  growing  out  from  the  roots  of  the  willow ; and 
the  three  blue  Chinese  going  over  it  into  a blue  temple,  which 


400 


A PLATED  ARTICLE. 


has  a fine  crop  of  blue  bushes  sprouting  out  of  the  roof ; and 
a blue  boat  sailing  above  them,  the  mast  of  which  is  burglar- 
iously sticking  itself  into  the  foundations  of  a blue  villa,  sus- 
pended sky-high,  surmounted  by  a lump  of  blue  rock,  sky-higher, 
and  a couple  of  billing  blue  birds,  sky -highest  — together  with 
the  rest  of  that  amusing  blue  landscape,  which  has,  in  defer- 
ence to  our  revered  ancestors  of  the  Cerulean  Empire,  and  in 
defiance  of  every  known  law  of  perspective,  adorned  millions 
of  our  family  ever  since  the  days  of  platters  ? Didn’t  you 
inspect  the  copper-plate  on  which  my  pattern  was  deeply  en- 
graved ? Didn’t  you  perceive  an  impression  of  it  taken  in 
cobalt  color  at  a cylindrical  press,  upon  a leaf  of  thin  paper, 
streaming  from  a plunge-bath  of  soap  and  water  ? Wasn’t 
the  paper  impression  daintily  spread,  by  a light-fingered  dam- 
sel (you  know  you  admired  her  !),  over  the  surface  of  the  plate, 
and  the  back  of  the  paper  rubbed  prodigiously  hard  — with 
a long  tight  roll  of  flannel,  tied  up  like  a round  of  hung 
beef  — without  so  much  as  ruffling  the  paper,  wet  as  it  was  ? 
Then  (says  the  plate),  was  not  the  paper  washed  away  with  a 
sponge,  and  didn’t  there  appear,  set  off  upon  the  plate,  this 
identical  piece  of  Pre  Eaphaelite  blue  distemper  which  you 
now  behold?  Not  to  be  denied!  I had  seen  all  this — and 
more.  I had  been  shown,  at  Copeland’s,  patterns  of  beautiful 
design,  in  faultless  perspective,  which  are  causing  the  ugly  old 
willow  to  wither  out  of  public  favor ; and  which,  being  quite 
as  cheap,  insinuate  good  wholesome  natural  art  into  the  hum- 
blest households.  When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sprat  have  satisfied 
their  material  tastes  by  that  equal  division  of  fat  and  lean 
which  has  made  their  menage  immortal ; and  have,  after  the 
elegant  tradition,  “ licked  the  platter  clean,”  they  can — thanks 
to  modern  artists  in  clay  — feast  their  intellectual  tastes  upon 
excellent  delineations  of  natural  objects. 

This  reflection  prompts  me  to  transfer  my  attention  from 
the  blue  plate  to  the  forlorn  but  cheerfully  painted  vase  on 
the  sideboard.  And  surely  (says  the  plate)  you  have  not  for- 
gotten how  the  outlines  of  such  groups  of  flowers  as  you  see 
there,  are  printed,  just  as  I was  printed,  and  are  afterwards 
shaded  and  filled  in  with  metallic  colors  by  women  and  girls  ? 
As  to  the  aristocracy  of  our  order,  made  of  the  finer  clay — por- 


A PLATED  ARTICLE, 


401 


celain  peers  and  peeresses  ; — the  slabs,  and  panels,  and  table 
tops,  and  tazze;  the  endless  nobility  and  gentry  of  dessert, 
breakfast,  and  tea  services  ; the  gemmed  perfume  bottles,  and 
scarlet  and  gold  salvers ; you  saw  that  they  were  painted  by 
artists,  with  metallic  colors  laid  on  with  camel-hair  pencils, 
and  afterwards  burnt  in. 

And  talking  of  burning  in  (says  the  plate),  didn’t  you  find 
that  every  subject,  from  the  willow-pattern  to  the  landscape 
after  Turner  — having  been  framed  upon  clay  or  porcelain  bis- 
cuit— has  to  be  glazed?  Of  course,  you  saw  the  glaze  — 
composed  of  various  vitreous  materials  — laid  over  every  ar- 
ticle ; and  of  course  you  witnessed  the  close  imprisonment  of 
each  piece  in  saggers  upon  the  separate  system  rigidly  enforced 
by  means  of  fine-pointed  earthenware  stilts  placed  between  the 
articles  to  prevent  the  slightest  communication  or  contact. 
We  had  in  my  time — and  I suppose  it  is  the  same  now  — 
fourteen  hours  firing  to  fix  the  glaze  and  to  make  it  “ run  ” all 
over  us  equally,  so  as  to  put  a good  shiny  and  unscratcliable 
surface  upon  us.  Doubtless,  you  observed  that  one  sort  of 
glaze  — called  printing-body  — is  burnt  into  the  better  sort  of 
ware  before  it  is  printed.  Upon  this  you  saw  some  of  the  fin- 
est steel  engravings  transferred,  to  be  fixed  by  an  after  glazing 
— didn’t  you  ? Why,  of  course  you  did  ! 

Of  course  I did.  I had  seen  and  enjoyed  everything  that 
the  plate  recalled  to  me,  and  had  beheld  with  admiration  how 
the  rotatory  motion  which  keeps  this  ball  of  ours  in  its  place 
in  the  great  scheme,  with  all  its  busy  mites  upon  it,  was  nec- 
essary throughout  the  process,  and  could  only  be  dispensed 
with  in  the  fire.  So,  listening  to  the  plate’s  reminders,  and 
musing  upon  them,  I got  through  the  evening  after  all,  and 
went  to  bed.  I made  but  one  sleep  of  it  — for  which  I have 
no  doubt  I am  also  indebted  to  the  plate  — and  left  the  lonely 
Dodo  in  the  morning,  quite  at  peace  with  it,  before  the  bandy- 
legged baby  was  up. 

vol.  ii — 26 


OUR  HONORABLE  FRIEND. 


We  are  delighted  to  find  that  he  has  got  in ! Our  honora- 
ble friend  is  triumphantly  returned  to  serve  in  the  next  Par- 
liament. He  is  the  honorable  member  for  Verbosity  — the 
best  represented  place  in  England. 

Our  honorable  friend  has  issued  an  address  of  congratula- 
tion to  the  Electors,  which  is  worthy  of  that  noble  constituency, 
and  is  a very  pretty  piece  of  composition.  In  electing  him, 
he  says,  they  have  covered  themselves  with  glory,  and  Eng- 
land has  been  true  to  herself.  (In  his  preliminary  address  he 
had  remarked,  in  a poetical  quotation  of  great  rarity,  that 
nought  could  make  us  rue,  if  England  to  herself  did  prove  but 
true.) 

Our  honorable  friend  delivers  a prediction,  in  the  same 
document,  that  the  feeble  minions  of  a faction  will  never  hold 
up  their  heads  any  more ; and  that  the  finger  of  scorn  will 
point  at  them  in  their  dejected  state,  through  countless  ages  of 
time.  Further,  that  the  hireling  tools  that  would  destroy  the 
sacred  bulwarks  of  our  nationality  are  unworthy  of  the  name 
of  Englishmen ; and  that  so  long  as  the  sea  shall  roll  around 
our  ocean-girded  isle,  so  long  his  motto  shall  be,  No  Surrender. 
Certain  dogged  persons  of  low  principles  and  no  intellect,  have 
disputed  whether  any  body  knows  who  the  minions  are,  or 
what  the  faction  is,  or  which  are  the  hireling  tools  and  which 
the  sacred  bulwarks,  or  what  it  is  that  is  never  to  be  surren- 
dered, and  if  not,  why  not  ? But,  our  honorable  friend  the 
member  for  Verbosity  knows  all  about  it. 

Our  honorable  friend  has  sat  in  several  parliaments,  and 
given  bushels  of  votes.  He  is  a man  of  that  profundity  in 
the  matter  of  vote-giving,  that  you  never  know  what  he 
means.  When  he  seems  to  be  voting  pure  white,  he  may  be 
in  reality  voting  jet  black.  When  he  says  Yes,  it  is  just  as 

402 


OUR  HONORABLE  FRIEND. 


403 


likely  as  not  — or  rather  more  so  — that  he  means  No.  This 
is  the  statesmanship  of  our  honorable  friend.  It  is  in  this, 
that  he  differs  from  mere  unparliamentary  men.  You  may 
not  know  what  he  meant  then,  or  what  he  means  now ; but, 
our  honorable  friend  knows,  and  did  from  the  first  know,  both 
what  he  meant  then,  and  what  he  means  now ; and  when  he 
said  he  didn’t  mean  it  then,  he  did  in  fact  say,  that  he  means 
it  now.  And  if  you  mean  to  say  that  you  did  not  then,  and 
do  not  now,  know  what  he  did  mean  then,  or  does  mean  now, 
our  honorable  friend  will  be  glad  to  receive  an  explicit  declara- 
tion from  you  whether  you  are  prepared  to  destroy  the  sacred 
bulwarks  of  our  nationality. 

Our  honorable  friend,  the  member  for  Verbosity,  has  this 
great  attribute,  that  he  always  means  something,  and  always 
means  the  same  thing.  When  he  came  down  to  that  House 
and  mournfully  boasted  in  his  place,  as  an  individual  member 
of  the  assembled  Commons  of  this  great  and  happy  country, 
that  he  could  lay  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  solemnly  de- 
clare that  no  consideration  on  earth  should  induce  him,  at  any 
time  or  under  any  circumstances,  to  go  as  far  north  as  Ber- 
wick-upon-Tweed; and  when  he  nevertheless,  next  year,  did 
go  to  Berwick-upon-Tweed,  and  even  beyond  it,  to  Edinburgh ; 
he  had  one  single  meaning,  one  and  indivisible.  And  God 
forbid  (our  honorable  friend  says)  that  he  should  waste  an- 
other argument  upon  the  man  who  professes  that  he  cannot 
understand  it ! “I  do  not,  gentlemen,”  said  our  honorable 
friend,  with  indignant  emphasis  and  amid  great  cheering,  on 
one  such  public  occasion.  “ I do  not,  gentlemen,  I am  free  to 
confess,  envy  the  feelings  of  that  man  whose  mind  is  so  con- 
stituted as  that  he  can  hold  such  language  to  me,  and  yet  lay 
his  head  upon  his  pillow,  claiming  to  be  a native  of  that  land, 

Whose  march  is  o’er  the  mountain- wave, 

Whose  home  is  on  the  deep  ! 

(Vehement  cheering,  and  man  expelled.) 

When  our  honorable  friend  issued  his  preliminary  address 
to  the  constituent  body  of  Verbosity  on  the  occasion  of  one 
particular  glorious  triumph,  it  was  supposed  by  some  of  his 
enemies,  that  even  he  would  be  placed  in  a situation  of  difli- 


404 


OUR  HONORABLE  FRIEND. 


culty  by  the  following  comparatively  trifling  conjunction  of 
circumstances.  The  dozen  noblemen  and  gentlemen  whom  our 
honorable  friend  supported,  had  “come  in,”  express^  to  do  a 
certain  thing.  Now,  four  of  the  dozen  said,  at  a certain  place, 
that  they  didn’t  mean  to  do  that  thing,  and  had  never  meant 
to  do  it ; another  four  of  the  dozen  said,  at  another  certain 
place,  that  they  did  mean  to  do  that  thing,  and  had  always 
meant  to  do  it ; two  of  the  remaining  four  said,  at  two  other 
certain  places,  that  they  meant  to  do  half  of  that  thing  (but 
differed  about  which  half),  and  to  do  a variety  of  nameless 
wonders  instead  of  the  other  half ; and  one  of  the  remaining 
two  declared  that  the  thing  itself  was  dead  and  buried,  while 
the  other  as  strenuously  protested  that  it  was  alive  and  kick- 
ing. It  was  admitted  that  the  parliamentary  genius  of  our 
honorable  friend  would  be  quite  able  to  reconcile  such  small 
discrepancies  as  these ; but,  there  remained  the  "additional 
difficulty,  that  each  of  the  twelve  made  entirely  different  state- 
ments at  different  places,  and  that  all  the  twelve  called  every- 
thing visible  and  invisible,  sacred  and  profane,  to  witness, 
that  they  were  a perfectly  impregnable  phalanx  of  unanimity. 
This,  it  was  apprehended,  would  be  a stumbling-block  to  our 
honorable  friend. 

The  difficulty  came  before  our  honorable  friend,  in  this  way. 
He  went  down  to  Verbosity  to  meet  his  free  and  independent 
constituents,  and  to  render  an  account  (as  he  informed  them 
in  the  local  papers)  of  the  trust  they  had  confided  to  his  hands 
— that  trust  which  it  was  one  of  the  proudest  privileges  of  an 
Englishman  to  possess  — that  trust  which  it  was  the  proudest 
privilege  or  an  Englishman  to  hold.  It  may  be  mentioned  as 
a proof  of  the  great  general  interest  attaching  to  the  contest., 
that  a Lunatic  whom  nobody  employed  or  knew,  went  down 
to  Verbosity  with  several  thousand  pounds  in  gold,  deter- 
mined to  give  the  whole  away  — which  he  actually  did  ; and 
that  all  the  publicans  opened  their  houses  for  nothing.  Like- 
wise, several  fighting  men,  and  a patriotic  group  of  burglars 
sportively  armed  with  life-preservers,  proceeded  (in  barouches 
and  very  drunk)  to  the  scene  of  action  at  their  own  expense ; 
these  children  of  nature  having  conceived  a warm  attachment 
to  our  honorable  friend,  and  intending,  in  their  artless 


OUR  HONORABLE  FRIEND. 


405 


manner,  to  testify  it  by  knocking  the  voters  in  the  opposite 
interest  on  the  head. 

Our  honorable  friend  being  come  into  the  presence  of  his 
constituents,  and  having  professed  with  great  suavity  that  he 
was  delighted  to  see  his  good  friend  Tipkisson  there,  in  his 
working  dress  — his  good  friend  Tipkisson  being  an  inveterate 
saddler,  who  always  opposes  him,  and  for  whom  he  has  a mor- 
tal hatred  — made  them  a brisk,  ginger-beery  sort  of  speech, 
in  which  he  showed  them  how  the  dozen  noblemen  and  gentle- 
men had  (in  exactly  ten  days  from  their  coming  in)  exercised 
a surprisingly  beneficial  effect  on  the  whole  financial  condition 
of  Europe,  had  altered  the  state  of  the  exports  and  imports  for 
the  current  half-year,  had  prevented  the  drain  of  gold,  had 
made  all  that  matter  right  about  the  glut  of  the  raw  material, 
and  had  restored  all  sorts  of  balances  with  which  the  super- 
seded noblemen  and  gentlemen  had  played  the  deuce — and  all 
this,  with  wheat  at  so  much  a quarter,  gold  at  so  much  an 
ounce,  and  the  Bank  of  England  discounting  good  bills  at  so 
much  per  cent ! He  might  be  asked,  he  observed  in  a perora- 
tion of  great  power,  what  were  his  principles  ? His  principles 
were  what  they  always  had  been.  His  principles  were  written 
in  the  countenances  of  the  lion  and  unicorn;  were  stamped 
indelibly  upon  the  royal  shield  which  those  grand  animals 
supported,  and  upon  the  free  words  of  fire  which  that  shield 
bore.  His  principles  were,  Britannia  and  her  sea-king  trident ! 
His  principles  were,  commercial  prosperity  co-existently  with 
perfect  and  profound  agricultural  contentment ; but  short  of 
this  he  would  never  stop.  His  principles  were  these,  — with 
the  addition  of  his  colors  nailed  to  the  mast,  every  man’s  heart 
in  the  right  place,  every  man’s  eye  open,  every  man’s  hand 
ready,  every  man’s  mind  on  the  alert.  His  principles  were 
these,  concurrently  with  a general  revision  of  something  — 
speaking  generally  — and  a possible  re-adjustment  of  some- 
thing else,  not  to  be  mentioned  more  particularly.  His  prin- 
ciples, to  sum  up  all  in  a word,  were,  Hearths  and  Altars, 
Labor  and  Capital,  Crown  and  Sceptre,  Elephant  and  Castle. 
And  now,  if  his  good  friend  Tipkisson  required  any  further 
explanation  from  him,  he  (our  honorable  friend)  was  there, 
willing  and  ready  to  give  it. 


406 


OUR  HONORABLE  FRIEND. 


Tipkisson,  who  all  this  time  had  stood  conspicuous  in  the 
crowd,  with  his  arms  folded  and  his  eyes  intently  fastened  on 
our  honorable  friend : Tipkisson,  who  throughout  our  honorable 
friend’s  address  had  not  relaxed  a muscle  of  his  visage,  but 
had  stood  there,  wholly  unaffected  by  the  torrent  of  eloquence : 
an  object  of  contempt  and  scorn  to  mankind  (by  which  we 
mean,  of  course,  to  the  supporters  of  our  honorable  friend); 
Tipkisson  now  said  that  he  was  a plain  man  (Cries  of  “ You 
are  indeed!”),  and  that  what  he  wanted  to  know  was,  what 
our  honorable  friend  and  the  dozen  noblemen  and  gentlemen 
were  driving  at  ? 

Our  honorable  friend  immediately  replied,  “ At  the  illimit- 
able perspective.” 

It  was  considered  by  the  whole  assembly  that  this  happy 
statement  of  our  honorable  friend’s  political  views  ought, 
immediately,  to  have  settled  Tipkisson’s  business  and  covered 
him  with  confusion;  but,  that  implacable  person,  regardless 
of  the  execrations  that  were  heaped  upon  him  from  all  sides  (by 
which  we  mean,  of  course,  from  our  honorable  friend’s  side), 
persisted  in  retaining  an  unmoved  countenance,  and  obstinately 
retorted  that  if  our  honorable  friend  meant  that,  he  wished  to- 
know  what  that  meant  ? 

It  was  in  repelling  this  most  objectionable  and  indecent 
opposition,  that  our  honorable  friend  displayed  his  highest 
qualifications  for  the  representation  of  Verbosity.  His  warm- 
est supporters  present,  and  those  who  were  best  acquainted 
with  his  generalship,  supposed  that  the  moment  was  come 
when  he  would  fall  back  upon  the  sacred  bulwarks  of  our 
nationality.  No  such  thing.  He  replied  thus : “ My  good 
friend  Tipkisson,  gentlemen,  wishes  to  know  what  I mean 
when  he  asks  me  what  we  are  driving  at,  and  when  I candidly 
tell  him,  at  the  illimitable  perspective.  He  wishes  (if  I under- 
stand him)  to  know  what  I mean  ? ” “ I do  ! ” says  Tipkisson, 
amid  cries  of  “ Shame”  and  “Down  with  him.”  “Gentle- 
men,” says  our  honorable  friend,  “I  will  indulge  my  good 
friend  Tipkisson,  by  telling  him,  both  what  I mean  and  what  I 
don’t  mean.  (Cheers  and  cries  of  “ Give  it  him  ! ”)  Be  it 
known  to  him  then,  and  to  all  whom  it  may  concern,  that  I 
do  mean  altars,  hearths,  and  homes,  and  that  I don’t  mean 


OUR  HONORABLE  FRIEND . 


407 


mosques  and  Mahommedanism ! ” The  effect  of  this  home- 
thrust  was  terrific.  Tipkisson  (who  is  a Baptist)  was  hooted 
down  and  hustled  out,  and  has  ever  since  been  regarded  as  a 
Turkish  Renegade  who  contemplates  an  early  pilgrimage  to 
Mecca.  Nor  was  he  the  only  discomfited  man.  The  charge, 
while  it  struck  to  him,  was  magically  transferred  to  our  honor- 
able friend’s  opponent,  who  was  represented  in  an  immense 
variety  of  placards  as  a firm  believer  in  Mahomet;  and  the 
men  of  Verbosity  were  asked  to  choose  between  our  honorable 
friend  and  the  Bible,  and  our  honorable  friend’s  opponent  and 
the  Koran.  They  decided  for  our  honorable  friend,  and  ral- 
lied round  the  illimitable  perspective. 

It  has  been  claimed  for  our  honorable  friend,  with  much 
appearance  of  reason,  that  he  was  the  first  to  bend  sacred  mat- 
ters to  electioneering  tactics.  However  this  may  be,  the  fine 
precedent  was  undoubtedly  set  in  a Verbosity  election : and  it 
is  certain  that  our  honorable  friend  (who  was  a disciple  of 
Brahma  in  his  youth,  and  was  a Buddhist  when  he  had  the 
honor  of  travelling  with  him  a few  years  ago,)  always  pro- 
fesses in  public  more  anxiety  than  the  whole  Bench  of  Bishops, 
regarding  the  theological  and  doxological  opinions  of  every 
man,  woman,  and  child,  in  the  United  Kingdom. 

As  we  began  by  saying  that  our  honorable  friend  has  got  in 
again  at  this  last  election,  and  that  we  are  delighted  to  find 
that  he  has  got  in,  so  we  will  conclude.  Our  honorable  friend 
cannot  come  in  for  Verbosity  too  often.  It  is  a good  sign;  it 
is  a great  example.  It  is  to  men  like  our  honorable  friend, 
and  to  contests  like  those  from  which  he  comes  triumphant, 
that  we  are  mainly  indebted  for  that  ready  interest  in  politics, 
that  fresh  enthusiasm  in  the  discharge  of  the  duties  of  citizen- 
ship, that  ardent  desire  to  rush  to  the  poll,  at  present  so  man- 
ifest throughout  England.  When  the  contest  lies  (as  it  some- 
times does)  between  two  such  men  as  our  honorable  friend,  it 
stimulates  the  finest  emotions  of  our  nature,  and  awakens  the 
highest  admiration  of  which  our  heads  and  hearts  are  capable. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  predict  that  our  honorable  friend  will 
be  always  at  his  post  in  the  ensuing  session.  Whatever  the 
question  be,  or  whatever  the  form  of  its  discussion ; address 
to  the  crown,  election-petition,  expenditure  of  the  public 


408 


OUR  HONORABLE  FRIEND. 


money,  extension  of  the  public  suffrage,  education,  crime;  in 
the  whole  house,  in  committee  of  the  whole  house,  in  select 
committee  ; in  every  parliamentary  discussion  of  every  subject, 
everywhere : the  Honorable  Member  for  Verbosity  will  most 
certainly  be  found. 


OUR  SCHOOL. 


We  went  to  look  at  it,  only  this  last  Midsummer,  and  found 
that  the  Railway  had  cut  it  up  root  and  branch.  A great 
trunk-line  had  swallowed  the  play-ground,  sliced  away  the 
schoolroom,  and  pared  off  the  corner  of  the  house  : which,  thus 
curtailed  of  its  proportions,  presented  itself,  in  a green  stage 
of  stucco,  profilewise  towards  the  road,  like  a forlorn  flat-iron 
without  a handle,  standing  on  end. 

It  seems  as  if  our  schools  were  doomed  to  be  the  sport  of 
change.  We  have  faint  recollections  of  a Preparatory  Day- 
School,  which  we  have  sought  in  vain,  and  which  must  have 
been  pulled  down  to  make  a new  street,  ages  ago.  We  have 
dim  impressions,  scarcely  amounting  to  a belief,  that  it  was 
over  a dyer’s  shop.  We  know  that  you  went  up  steps  to  it; 
that  you  frequently  grazed  your  knees  in  doing  so  ; that  you 
generally  got  your  leg  over  the  scraper,  in  trying  to  scrape 
the  mud  off  a very  unsteady  little  shoe.  The  mistress  of  the 
Establishment  holds  no  place  in  our  memory ; but,  rampant 
on  one  eternal  door-mat,  in  an  eternal  entry  long  and  narrow, 
is  a puffy  pug-dog,  with  a personal  animosity  towards  us,  who 
triumphs  over  Time.  The  bark  of  that  baleful  Pug,  a certain 
radiating  way  he  had  of  snapping  at  our  undefended  legs,  the 
ghastly  grinning  of  his  moist  black  muzzle  and  white  teeth, 
and  the  insolence  of  his  crisp  tail  curled  like  a pastoral  crook, 
all  live  and  flourish.  Prom  an  otherwise  unaccountable  associ- 
ation of  him  with  a fiddle,  we  conclude  that  he  was  of  French 
extraction,  and  his  name  Fiddle.  He  belonged  to  some  female, 
chiefly  inhabiting  a back-parlor,  whose  life  appears  to  us  to 
have  been  consumed  in  sniffing,  and  in  wearing  a brown  beaver 
bonnet.  For  her,  he  would  sit  up  and  balance  cake  upon  his 
nose,  and  not  eat  it  until  twenty  had  been  counted.  To  the 
best  of  our  belief  we  were  once  called  in  to  witness  this  per- 

409 


410 


OUR  SCHOOL. 


formance ; when,  unable,  even  in  his  milder  moments,  to 
endure  our  presence,  he  instantly  made  at  us,  cake  and  all. 

Why  a something  in  mourning,  called  “ Miss  Frost,”  should 
still  connect  itself  with  our  preparatory  school,  we  are  unable 
to  say.  We  retain  no  impression  of  the  beauty  of  Miss  Frost 
— if  she  were  beautiful ; or  of  the  mental  fascinations  of  Miss 
Frost  — if  she  were  accomplished ; yet  her  name  and  her  black 
dress  hold  an  enduring  place  in  our  remembrance.  An  equally 
impersonal  boy,  whose  name  has  long  since  shaped  itself  un- 
alterably into  “ Master  Mawls,”  is  not  to  be  dislodged  from 
our  brain.  Betaining  no  vindictive  feeling  towards  Mawls  — 
no  feeling  whatever,  indeed  — we  infer  that  neither  he  nor  we 
can  have  loved  Miss  Frost.  Our  first  impression  of  Death 
and  Burial  is  associated  with  this  formless  pair.  We  all  three 
nestled  awfully  in  a corner  one  wintry  day,  when  the  wind 
was  blowing  shrill,  with  Miss  Frost’s  pinafore  over  our  heads ; 
and  Miss  Frost  told  us  in  a whisper  about  somebody  being 
“screwed  down.”  It  is  the  only  distinct  recollection  we  pre- 
serve of  these  impalpable  creatures,  except  a suspicion  that 
the  manners  of  Master  Mawls  were  susceptible  of  much  im- 
provement. Generally  speaking,  we  may  observe  that  when- 
ever we  see  a child  intently  occupied  with  its  nose,  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  other  subjects  of  interest,  our  mind  reverts, 
in  a flash,  to  Master  Mawls. 

But,  the  School  that  was  Our  School  before  the  Bailroad 
came  and  overthrew  it,  was  quite  another  sort  of  place.  We 
were  old  enough  to  be  put  into  Virgil  when  we  went  there, 
and  to  get  Prizes  for  a variety  of  polishing  on  which  the  rust 
has  long  accumulated.  It  was  a School  of  some  celebrity  in 
its  neighborhood  — nobody  could  have  said  why  — and  we  had 
the  honor  to  attain  and  hold  the  eminent  position  of  first  boy. 
The  master  was  supposed  among  us  to  know  nothing,  and  one 
of  the  ushers  was  supposed  to  know  everything.  We  are  still 
inclined  to  think  the  first-named  supposition  perfectly  correct. 

We  have  a general  idea  that  its  subject  had  been  in  the 
leather  trade,  and  had  bought  us  — meaning  Our  School  — of 
another  proprietor,  who  was  immensely  learned.  Whether 
this  belief  had  any  real  foundation,  we  are  not  likely  ever  to 
know  now.  The  only  branches  of  education  with  which  he 


OUB  SCHOOL. 


411 


showed,  the  least  acquaintance,  were,  ruling  and  corporally 
punishing.  He  was  always  ruling  ciphering-books  with  a 
bloated  mahogany  ruler,  or  smiting  the  palms  of  offenders 
with  the  same  diabolical  instrument,  or  viciously  drawing  a 
pair  of  pantaloons  tight  with  one  of  his  large  hands,  and 
caning  the  wearer  with  the  other.  We  have  no  doubt  what- 
ever that  this  occupation  was  the  principal  solace  of  his  ex- 
istence. 

A profound  respect  for  money  pervaded  Our  School,  which 
was  of  course  derived  from  its  Chief.  We  remember  an  idi- 
otic goggled-eyed  boy,  with  a big  head  and  half-crowns  with- 
out end,  who  suddenly  appeared  as  a parlor-boarder,  and  was 
rumored  to  have  come  by  sea  from  some  mysterious  part  of 
the  earth  where  his  parents  rolled  in  gold.  He  was  usually 
called  “ Mr.”  by  the  Chief,  and  was  said  to  feed  in  the  parlor 
on  steaks  and  gravy;  likewise  to  drink  currant  wine.  And 
he  openly  stated  that  if  rolls  and  coffee  were  ever  denied  him 
at  breakfast,  he  would  write  home  to  that  unknown  part  of 
the  globe  from  which  he  had  come,  and  cause  himself  to  be 
recalled  to  the  regions  of  gold.  He  was  put  into  no  form  or 
class,  but  learnt  alone,  as  little  as  he  liked  — and  he  liked  very 
little — and  there  was  a belief  among  us  that  this  was  because 
he  was  too  wealthy  to  be  “ taken  down.”  His  special  treat- 
ment, and  our  vague  association  of  him  with  the  sea,  and  with 
storms,  and  sharks,  and  Coral  Reefs,  occasioned  the  wildest 
legends  to  be  circulated  as  his  history.  A tragedy  in  blank 
verse  was  written  on  the  subject  — if  our  memory  does  not 
deceive  us,  by  the  hand  that  now  chronicles  these  recollections 
— in  which  his  father  figured  as  a Pirate,  and  was  shot  for  a 
voluminous  catalogue  of  atrocities : first  imparting  to  his  wife 
the  secret  of  the  cave  in  which  his  wealth  was  stored,  and  from 
which  his  only  son’s  half-crowns  now  issued.  Dumbledon  (the 
boy’s  name)  was  represented  as  “yet  unborn”  when  his  brave 
father  met  his  fate ; and  the  despair  and  grief  of  Mrs.  Dumble- 
don at  that  calamity  was  movingly  shadowed  forth  as  having 
weakened  the  parlor-boarder’s  mind.  This  production  was  re- 
ceived with  great  favor,  and  was  twice  performed  with  closed 
doors  in  the  dining-room.  But,  it  got  wind,  and  was  seized  as 
libellous,  and  brought  the  unlucky  poet  into  severe  affliction. 


412 


OUB  SCHOOL. 


Some  two  years  afterwards,  all  of  a sudden  one  day,  Durnble- 
don  vanished.  It  was  whispered  that  the  Chief  himself  had 
taken  him  down  to  the  Docks,  and  re-shipped  him  for  the 
Spanish  Main ; but  nothing  certain  was  ever  known  about  his 
disappearance.  At  this  hour,  we  cannot  thoroughly  disconnect 
him  from  California. 

Our  School  was  rather  famous  for  mysterious  pupils. 
There  was  another  — a heavy  young  man,  with  a large  double- 
cased  silver  watch,  and  a fat  knife  the  handle  of  which  was  a 
perfect  tool-box  — who  unaccountably  appeared  one  day  at  a 
special  desk  of  his  own,  erected  close  to  that  of  the  Chief,  with 
whom  he  held  familiar  converse.  He  lived  in  the  parlor, 
and  went  out  for  walks,  and  never  took  the  least  notice  of  us 
— even  of  us,  the  first  boy  — unless  to  give  us  a depreciatory 
kick,  or  grimly  to  take  our  hat  off  and  throw  it  away,  when 
he  encountered  us  out  of  doors,  which  unpleasant  ceremony 
he  always  performed  as  he  passed — not  even  condescending  to 
stop  for  the  purpose.  Some  of  us  believed  that  the  classical 
attainments  of  this  phenomenon  were  terrific,  but  that  his 
penmanship  and  arithmetic  were  defective,  and  he  had  come 
there  to  mend  them ; others,  that  he  was  going  to  set  up  a 
school,  and  had  paid  the  Chief  “ twenty-five  pound  down/5 
for  leave  to  see  Our  School  at  work  The  gloomier  spirits 
even  said  that  he  was  going  to  buy  us ; against  which  con- 
tingency, conspiracies  were  set  on  foot  for  a general  defection 
and  running  away.  However,  he  never  did  that.  After 
staying  for  a quarter,  during  which  period,  though  closely 
observed,  he  was  never  seen  to  do  anything  but  make  pens 
out  of  quills,  write  small-hand  in  a secret  portfolio,  and  punch 
the  point  of  the  sharpest  blade  in  his  knife  into  his  desk  all 
over  it,  he  too  disappeared,  and  his  place  knew  him  no  more. 

There  was  another  boy,  a fair,  meek  boy,  with  a delicate 
complexion  and  rich  curling  hair,  who,  we  found  out,  or 
thought  we  found  out  (we  have  no  idea  now,  and  probably 
had  none  then,  on  what  grounds,  but  it  was  confidentially 
revealed  from  mouth  to  mouth),  was  the  son  of  a Yiscount 
who  had  deserted  his  lovely  mother.  It  was  understood  that 
if  he  had  his  rights,  he  would  be  worth  twenty  thousand  a 
year.  And  that  if  his  mother  ever  met  his  father,  she  would, 


OUR  SCHOOL. 


413 


shoot  him  with  a silver  pistol,  which  she  carried,  always 
loaded  to  the  muzzle,  for  that  purpose.  He  was  a very 
suggestive  topic.  So  was  a young  Mulatto,  who  was  always 
believed  (though  very  amiable)  to  have  a dagger  about  him 
somewhere.  But,  we  think  they  were  both  outshone,  upon 
the  whole,  by  another  boy  who  claimed  to  have  been  born  on 
the  twenty-ninth  of  February,  and  to  have  only  one  birthday 
in  five  years.  We  suspect  this  to  have  been  a fiction  — but  he 
lived  upon  it  all  the  time  he  was  at  Our  School. 

The  principal  currency  of  Our  School  was  slate-pencil.  It 
had  some  inexplicable  value,  that  was  never  ascertained,  never 
reduced  to  a standard.  To  have  a great  hoard  of  it,  was 
somehow  to  be  rich.  We  used  to  bestow  it  in  charity,  and 
confer  it  as  a precious  boon  upon  our  chosen  friends.  When 
the  holidays  were  coming,  contributions  were  solicited  for 
certain  boys  whose  relatives  were  in  India,  and  who  were 
appealed  for  under  the  generic  name  of  “ Holiday-stoppers/’ 
— appropriate  marks  of  remembrance  that  should  enliven  and 
cheer  them  in  their  homeless  state.  Personally,  we  always 
contributed  these  tokens  of  sympathy  in  the  form  of  slate- 
pencil,  and  always  felt  that  it  would  be  a comfort  and  a 
treasure  to  them. 

Our  School  was  remarkable  for  white  mice.  Bed-polls, 
linnets,  and  even  canaries,  were  kept  in  desks,  drawers,  hat- 
boxes,  and  other  strange  refuges  for  birds ; but  white  mice 
were  the  favorite  stock.  The  boys  trained  the  mice,  much 
better  than  the  masters  trained  the  boys.  We  recall  one 
white  mouse,  who  lived  in  the  cover  of  a Latin  dictionary, 
who  ran  up  ladders,  drew  Eoman  chariots,  shouldered 
muskets,  turned  wheels,  and  even  made  a very  creditable 
appearance  on  the  stage  as  the  Hog  of  Montargis.  He  might 
have  achieved  greater  things,  but  for  having  the  misfortune 
to  mistake  his  way  in  a triumphal  procession  to  the  Capitol, 
when  he  fell  into  a deep  inkstand,  and  was  dyed  black  and 
drowned  The  mice  were  the  occasion  of  some  most  ingenious 
engineering,  in  the  construction  of  their  houses  and  instru- 
ments of  performance.  The  famous  one  belonged  to  a Com- 
pany of  proprietors,  some  of  whom  have  since  made  Bailroads, 


414 


OUR  SCHOOL. 


Engines,  and  Telegraphs  ; the  chairman  has  erected  mills  and 
bridges  in  New  Zealand. 

The  usher  at  Our  School,  who  was  considered  to  know  every- 
thing as  opposed  to  the  Chief,  who  was  considered  to  know 
nothing,  was  a bony,  gentle-faced,  clerical-looking  young 
man  in  rusty  black.  It  was  whispered  that  he  was  sweet  upon 
one  of  Maxby ’s  sisters  (Maxby  lived  close  by,  and  was  a 
day  pupil),  and  further  that  he  “ favored  Maxby.”  As  we 
remember,  he  taught  Italian  to  Maxby’s  sisters  on  half- 
holidays. He  once  went  to  the  play  with  them,  and  wore  a 
white  waistcoat  and  a rose : which  was  considered  among  us 
equivalent  to  a declaration.  We  were  of  opinion  on  that 
occasion,  that  to  the  last  moment  he  expected  Maxby’s  father 
to  ask  him  to  dinner  at  five  o’clock,  and  therefore  neglected 
his  own  dinner  at  half-past  one,  and  finally  got  none.  We 
exaggerated  in  our  imaginations  the  extent  to  which  he  pun- 
ished Maxby’s  father’s  cold  meat  at  supper ; and  we  agreed  to 
believe  that  he  was  elevated  with  wine  and  water  when  he 
came  home.  But,  we  all  liked  him ; for  he  had  a good  knowl- 
edge of  boys,  and  would  have  made  it  a much  better  school  if 
he  had  had  more  power.  He  was  writing-master,  mathemati- 
cal master,  English  master,  made  out  the  bills,  mended  the 
pens,  and  did  all  sorts  of  things.  He  divided  the  little  boys 
with  the  Latin  master  (they  were  smuggled  through  their  rudi- 
mentary books,  at  odd  times  when  there  was  nothing  else  to 
do),  and  he  always  called  at  parents’  houses  to  inquire  after 
sick  boys,  because  he  had  gentlemanly  manners.  He  was 
rather  musical,  and  on  some  remote  quarter-day  had  bought 
an  old  trombone ; but  a bit  of  it  was  lost,  and  it  made  the 
most  extraordinary  sounds  when  he  sometimes  tried  to  play  it 
of  an  evening.  His  holidays  never  began  (on.  account  of  the 
bills)  until  long  after  ours  ; but,  in  the  summer  vacations  he 
used  to  take  pedestrian  excursions  with  a knapsack ; and  at 
Christmas-time,  he  went  to  see  his  father  at  Chipping  Norton, 
who  we  all  said  (on  no  authority)  was  a dairy-fed-pork-butcher. 
Poor  fellow ! He  was  very  low  all  day  on  Maxby’s  sister’s 
wedding-day,  and  afterwards  was  thought  to  favor  Maxby 
more  than  ever,  though  he  had  been  expected  to  spite  him. 
He  has  been  dead  these  twenty  years.  Poor  fellow  ! 


OUR  SCHOOL. 


415 


Our  remembrance  of  Our  School,  presents  the  Latin  master 
as  a colorless  doubled-up  near-sighted  man  with  a crutch,  who 
was  always  cold,  and  always  putting  onions  into  his  ears  for 
deafness,  and  always  disclosing  ends  of  flannel  under  all  his 
garments,  and  almost  always  applying  a ball  of  pocket-hand- 
kerchief to  some  part  of  his  face  with  a screwing  action  round 
and  round.  He  was  a very  good  scholar,  and  took  great  pains 
where  he  saw  intelligence  and  a desire  to  learn:  otherwise, 
perhaps  not.  Our  memory  presents  him  (unless  teased  into  a 
passion)  with  as  little  energy  as  color  — as  having  been 
worried  and  tormented  into  monotonous  feebleness  — as  having 
had  the  best  part  of  his  life  ground  out  of  him  in  a Mill  of 
boys.  We  remember  with  terror  how  he  fell  asleep  one  sultry 
afternoon  with  the  little  smuggled  class  before  him,  and  woke 
not  when  the  footstep  of  the  Chief  fell  heavy  on  the  floor ; 
how  the  Chief  aroused  him,  in  the  midst  of  a dread  silence, 
and  said,  “ Mr.  Blinkins,  are  you  ill,  sir  ? ” how  he  blushingly 
replied,  “ Sir,  rather  so  ” ; how  the  Chief  retorted  with  sever- 
ity, “ Mr.  Blinkins,  this  is  no  place  to  be  ill  in  ” (which  was 
very,  very  true),  and  walked  back,  solemn  as  the  ghost  in 
Hamlet,  until,  catching  a wandering  eye,  he  caned  that  boy  for 
inattention,  and  happily  expressed  his  feelings  towards  the 
Latin  master  through  the  medium  of  a substitute. 

There  was  a fat  little  dancing-master  who  used  to  come  in 
a gig,  and  taught  the  more  advanced  among  us  hornpipes  (as 
an  accomplishment  in  great  social  demand  in  after-life) ; and 
there  was  a brisk  little  French  master  who  used  to  come  in 
the  sunniest  weather,  with  a handleless  umbrella,  and  to 
whom  the  Chief  was  always  polite,  because  (as  we  believed), 
if  the  Chief  offended  him,  he  would  instantly  address  the  Chief 
in  French,  and  for  ever  confound  him  before  the  boys  with  his 
inability  to  understand  or  reply. 

There  was  besides,  a serving  man,  whose  name  was  Phil. 
Our  retrospective  glance  presents  Phil  as  a shipwrecked  car- 
penter, cast  away  upon  the  desert  island  of  a school,  and  carry- 
ing into  practice  an  ingenious  inkling  of  many  trades.  He 
mended  whatever  was  broken,  and  made  whatever  was  wanted. 
He  was  general  glazier,  among  other  things,  and  mended  all 
the  broken  windows  — at  the  prime  cost  (as  was  darkly  ru- 


416 


OUR  SCHOOL. 


mored  among  us)  of  ninepence,  for  every  square  charged  three- 
and-six  to  parents.  We  had  a high  opinion  of  his  mechanical 
genius,  and  generally  held  that  the  Chief  “knew  something 
bad  of  him,”  and  on  pain  of  divulgence  enforced  Phil  to  be  his 
bondsman.  We  particularly  remember  that  Phil  had  a sover- 
eign contempt  for  learning : which  engenders  in  us  a respect 
for  his  sagacity,  as  it  implies  his  accurate  observation  of  the 
relative  positions  of  the  Chief  and  the  ushers.  He  was  an 
impenetrable  man,  who  waited  at  the  table  between  whiles, 
and  throughout  “the  half”  kept  the  boxes  in  severe  custody. 
He  was  morose,  even  to  the  Chief,  and  never  smiled,  except  at 
breaking-up,  when,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  toast,  “ Success 
to  Phil ! Hooray  ! ” he  would  slowly  carve  a grin  out  of  his 
wooden  face,  where  it  would  remain  until  we  w^ere  all  gone. 
Nevertheless,  one  time  when  we  had  the  scarlet  fever  in  the 
school,  Phil  nursed  all  the  sick  boys  of  his  own  accord,  and 
was  like  a mother  to  them. 

There  was  another  school  not  far  off,  and  of  course  our 
school  could  have  nothing  to  say  to  that  school.  It  is  mostly 
the  way  with  schools,  whether  of  boys  or  men.  Well ! the 
railway  has  swallowed  up  ours,  and  the  locomotives  now  run 
smoothly  over  its  ashes. 

So  fades  and  languishes,  grows  dim  and  dies, 

All  that  this  world  is  proud  of, 

— and  is  not  proud  of,  too.  It  had  little  reason  to  be  proud 
of  Our  School,  and  has  done  much  better  since  in  that  way, 
and  will  do  far  better  yet. 


OUR  VESTRY. 


We  have  the  glorious  privilege  of  being  always  in  hot 
water  if  we  like.  We  are  a shareholder  in  a Great  Parochial 
British  Joint  Stock  Bank  of  Balderdash.  We  have  a Vestry 
in  our  borough,  and  can  vote  for  a vestryman  — might  even 
be  a vestryman,  mayhap,  if  we  were  inspired  by  a lofty  and 
noble  ambition.  Which  we  are  not. 

Our  Vestry  is  a deliberative  assembly  of  the  utmost  dignity 
and  importance.  Like  the  Senate  of  ancient  Rome,  its  awful 
gravity  overpowers  (or  ought  to  overpower)  barbarian  visitors. 
It  sits  in  the  Capitol  (we  mean  in  the  capital  building  erected 
for  it),  chiefly  on  Saturdays,  and  shakes  the  earth  to  its 
centre  with  the  echoes  of  its  thundering  eloquence,  in  a Sun- 
day paper. 

To  get  into  this  Vestry  in  the  eminent  capacity  of  Vestry- 
man, gigantic  efforts  are  made,  and  Herculean  exertions  used. 
It  is  made  manifest  to  the  dullest  capacity  at  every  election, 
that  if  we  reject  Snozzle  we  are  done  for,  and  that  if  we  fail 
to  bring  in  Blunderbooze  at  the  top  of  the  poll,  we  are  un- 
worthy of  the  dearest  rights  of  Britons.  Flaming  placards 
are  rife  on  all  the  dead  walls  in  the  borough,  public-houses 
hang  out  banners,  hackney-cabs  burst  into  full-grown  flowers 
of  type,  and  everybody  is,  or  should  be,  in  a paroxysm  of 
anxiety. 

At  these  momentous  crises  of  the  national  fate,  we  are  much 
assisted  in  our  deliberations  by  two  eminent  volunteers ; one 
of  whom  subscribes  himself  A Fellow  Parishoner,  the  other, 
A Rate-Payer.  Who  they  are,  or  what  they  are,  or  where 
they  are,  nobody  knows ; but,  whatever  one  asserts,  the  other 
contradicts.  They  are  both  voluminous  writers,  inditing  more 
epistles  than  Lord  Chesterfield  in  a single  week;  and  the 
greater  part  of  their  feelings  are  too  big  for  utterance  in  any- 
vol.  n — 27  417 


418 


OUR  VESTRY. 


thing  less  than  capital  letters.  They  require  the  additional 
aid  of  whole  rows  of  notes  of  admiration,  like  balloons,  to 
point  their  generous  indignation ; and  they  sometimes  com- 
municate a crushing  severity  to  stars.  As  thus  ; 


MEN  OF  MOONEYMOUNT. 

Is  it,  or  is  it  not,  a # * to  saddle  the  parish  with  a debt 

of  £2,745  6s.  9 d.,  yet  claim  to  be  a rigid  economist  ? 

Is  it,  or  is  it  not,  a # * * to  state  as  a fact  what  is  proved 
to  be  both  a moral  and  a physical  impossibility  ? 

Is  it,  or  is  it  not,  a * * * to  call  £2,745  6s.  9 d.  nothing; 
and  nothing,  something  ? 

Do  you,  or  do  you  not , want  a * # * * to  represent  you 
in  the  Vestry  ? 

Your  consideration  of  these  questions  is  recommended  to 
you  by 

A Fello.w  Parishioner. 

It  was  to  this  important  public  document  that  one  of  our 
first  orators,  Mr.  Magg  (of  Little  Winkling  Street),  adverted, 
when  he  opened  the  great  debate  of  the  fourteenth  of  Novem- 
ber by  saying,  “ Sir,  I hold  in  my  hand  an  anonymous  slander  ” 

— and  when  the  interruption,  with  which  he  was  at  that  point 
assailed  by  the  opposite  faction,  gave  rise  to  that  memorable 
discussion  on  a point  of  order  which  will  ever  be  remembered 
with  interest  by  constitutional  assemblies.  In  the  animated 
debate  to  which  we  refer,  no  fewer  than  thirty-seven  gentle- 
men, many  of  them  of  great  eminence,  including  Mr.  Wigsby 
(of  Chumbledon  Square),  were  seen  upon  their  legs  at  one 
time ; and  it  was  on  the  same  great  occasion  that  Dogginson 

— regarded  in  our  Vestry  as  “a  regular  John  Bull:”  we 
believe,  in  consequence  of  his  having  always  made  up  his  mind 
on  every  subject  without  knowing  anything  about  it  — in- 
formed another  gentleman  of  similar  principles  on  the  opposite 
side,  that  if  he  “ cheek’d  him,”  he  would  resort  to  the  extreme 
measure  of  knocking  his  blessed  head  off. 

This  was  a great  occasion.  But,  our  Vestry  shines  habitu- 
ally. In  asserting  its  own  pre-eminence,  for  instance,  it  is 


OUB  VESTBY. 


419 


very  strong.  On  the  least  provocation,  or  on  none,  it  will  be 
clamorous  to  know  whether  it  is  to  be  “ dictated  to,”  or  “ tram- 
pled on,”  or  “ ridden  over  rough-shod.”  Its  great  watchword 
is-  Self-government.  That  is  to  say,  supposing  our  Vestry  to 
favor  any  little  harmless  disorder  like  Typhus  Fever,  and 
supposing  the  Government  of  the  country  to  be,  by  any  acci- 
dent, in  such  ridiculous  hands,  as  that  any  of  its  authorities 
should  consider  it  a duty  to  object  to  Typhus  Fever  — obviously 
an  unconstitutional  objection  — then,  our  Vestry  cuts  in  with 
a terrible  manifesto  about  Self-government,  and  claims  its 
independent  right  to  have  as  much  Typhus  Fever  as  pleases 
itself.  Some  absurd  and  dangerous  persons  have  represented, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  though  our  Vestry  may  be  able  to 
“ beat  the  bounds  ” of  its  own  parish,  it  may  not  be  able  to 
beat  the  bounds  of  its  own  diseases ; which  (say  they)  spread 
over  the  whole  land,  in  an  ever-expanding  circle  of  waste, 
and  misery,  and  death,  and  widowhood,  and  orphanage,  and 
desolation.  But,  our  Vestry  makes  short  work  of  any  such 
fellows  as  these. 

It  was  our  Vestry  — pink  of  Vestries  as  it  is  — that  in 
support  of  its  favorite  principle  took  the  celebrated  ground 
of  denying  the  existence  of  the  last  pestilence  that  raged  in 
England,  when  the  pestilence  was  raging  at  the  Vestry  doors. 
Dogginson  said  it  was  plums ; Mr.  Wigsby  (of  Chumbledon 
Square)  said  it  was  oysters ; Mr.  Magg  (of  Little  Winkling 
Street)  said,  amid  great  cheering,  it  was  the  newspapers.  The 
noble  indignation  of  our  Vestry  with  that  un-English  institution 
the  Board  of  Health,  under  those  circumstances,  yields  one  of 
the  finest  passages  in  its  history.  It  wouldn’t  hear  of  rescue. 
Like  Mr.  Joseph  Miller’s  Frenchman,  it  would  be  drowned 
and  nobody  should  save  it.  Transported  beyond  grammar  by 
its  kindled  ire,  it  spoke  in  unknown  tongues,  and  vented 
unintelligible  bellowings,  more  like  an  ancient  oracle  than  the 
modern  oracle  it  is  admitted  on  all  hands  to  be.  Bare  exigen- 
cies produce  rare  things ; and  even  our  Vestry, .new  hatched 
to  the  woeful  time,  came  forth  a greater  goose  than  ever. 

But  this,  again,  was  a special  occasion.  Our  Vestry,  at  more 
ordinary  periods,  demands  its  meed  of  praise. 

Our  Vestry  is  eminently  parliamentary.  Playing  at  Parlia- 


420 


OUR  VESTRY. 


ment  is  its  favorite  game.  It  is  even  regarded  by  some  of  its 
members  as  a chapel  of  ease  to  the  House  of  Commons : a 
Little  Go  to  be  passed  first.  It  has  its  strangers’  gallery,  and 
its  reported  debates  (see  the  Sunday  paper  before  mentioned), 
and  our  Vestrymen  are  in  and  out  of  order,  and  on  and  off  their 
legs,  and  above  all  are  transcendently  quarrelsome,  after  the 
pattern  of  the  real  original. 

Our  Vestry  being  assembled,  Mr.  Magg  never  begs  to 
trouble  Mr.  Wigsby  with  a simple  inquiry.  He  knows  better 
than  that.  Seeing  the  honorable  gentleman,  associated  in 
their  minds  with  Chumbledon  Square,  in  his  place,  he  wishes 
to  ask  that  honorable  gentleman  what  the  intentions  of  him- 
self, and  those  with  whom  he  acts,  may  be,  on  the  subject  of 
the  paving  of  the  district  known  as  Piggleum  Buildings  ? 
Mr.  Wigsby  replies  (with  his  eye  on  next  Sunday’s  paper), 
that  in  reference  to  the  question  which  has  been  put  to  him 
by  the  honorable  gentleman  opposite,  he  must  take  leave  to 
say,  that  if  that  honorable  gentleman  had  had  the  courtesy 
to  give  him  notice  of  that  question,  he  (Mr.  Wigsby)  would 
have  consulted  with  his  colleagues  in  reference  to  the  advis- 
ability, in  the  present  state  of  the  discussions  on  th$  new 
paving-rate,  of  answering  that  question.  But,  as  the  honor- 
able gentleman  has  not  had  the  courtesy  to  give  him  notice 
of  that  question  (great  cheering  from  the  Wigsby  interest),  he 
must  decline  to  give  the  honorable  gentleman  the  satisfaction 
he  requires.  Mr.  Magg,  instantly  rising  to  retort,  is  received 
with  loud  cries  of  “ Spoke ! ” from  the  Wigsby  interest,  and 
with  cheers  from  the  Magg  side  of  the  house.  Moreover,  five 
gentlemen  rise  to  order,  and  one  of  them,  in  revenge  for  being 
taken  no  notice  of,  petrifies  the  assembly  by  moving  that  this 
Vestry  do  now  adjourn ; but,  is  persuaded  to  withdraw  that 
awful  proposal,  in  consideration  of  its  tremendous  consequences 
if  persevered  in.  Mr.  Magg,  for  the  purpose  of  being  heard, 
then  begs  to  move,  that  you,  Sir,  do  now  pass  to  the  order  of 
the  day ; and  takes  that  opportunity  of  saying,  that  if  an 
honorable  gentleman  whom  he  has  in  his  eye,  and  will  not 
demean  himself  by  more  particularly  naming  (oh,  oh,  and 
cheers),  supposes  that  he  is  to  be  put  down  by  clamor,  that 
honorable  gentleman  — however  supported  he  may  be,  through 


OUR  VESTRY. 


421 


thick  and  thin,  by  a Fellow  Parishioner,  with  whom  he  is 
well  acquainted  (cheers  and  counter-cheers,  Mr.  Magg  being 
invariably  backed  by  the  Rate-Payer)  — will  find  himself 
mistaken.  Upon  this,  twenty  members  of  our  Vestry  speak 
in  succession  concerning  what  the  two  great  men  have  meant, 
until  it  appears,  after  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes,  that 
neither  of  them  meant  anything.  Then  our  Vestry  begins 
business. 

We  have  said  that,  after  the  pattern  of  the  real  original, 
our  Vestry  in  playing  at  Parliament  is  transcendently  quarrel- 
some. It  enjoys  a personal  altercation  above  all  things. 
Perhaps  the  most  redoubtable  case  of  this  kind  we  have  ever 
had  — though  we  have  had  so  many  that  it  is  difficult  to 
decide  — was  that  on  which  the  last  extreme  solemnities  passed 
between  Mr.  Tiddypot  (of  Gumtion  House)  and  Captain 
Banger  (of  Wilderness  Walk). 

In  an  adjourned  debate  on  the  question  whether  water  could 
be  regarded  in  the  light  of  a necessary  of  life ; respecting 
which  there  were  great  differences  of  opinion,  and  many 
shades  of  sentiment ; Mr.  Tiddypot,  in  a powerful  burst  of 
eloquence  against  that  hypothesis,  frequently  made  use  of  the 
expression  that  such  and  such  a rumor  had  “ reached  his 
ears.”  Captain  Banger,  following  him,  and  holding  that,  for 
purposes  of  ablution  and  refreshment,  a pint  of  water  per 
diem  was  necessary  for  every  adult  of  the  lower  classes,  and 
half  a pint  for  every  child,  cast  ridicule  upon  his  address  in  a 
sparkling  speech,  and  concluded  by  saying  that  instead  of 
those  rumors  having  reached  the  ears  of  the  honorable  gentle- 
man, he  rather  thought  the  honorable  gentleman’s  ears  must 
have  reached  the  rumors,  in  consequence  of  their  well-known 
length.  Mr.  Tiddypot  immediately  rose,  looked  the  honor- 
able and  gallant  gentleman  full  in  the  face,  and  left  the 
Vestry. 

The  excitement,  at  this  moment  painfully  intense,  was 
heightened  to  an  acute  degree  when  Captain  Banger  rose,  and 
also  left  the  Vestry.  After  a few  moments  of  profound  silence 
— one  of  these  breathless  pauses  never  to  be  forgotten  — Mr. 
Chib  (of  Tucket’s  Terrace,  and  the  father  of  the  Vestry)  rose. 
He  said  that  words  and  looks  had  passed  in  that  assembly, 


422 


OUR  VESTRY. 


replete  with  consequences  which  every  feeling  mind  must 
deplore.  Time  pressed.  The  sword  was  drawn,  and  while 
he  spoke  the  scabbard  might  be  thrown  away.  He  moved 
that  those  honorable  gentlemen  who  had  left  the  Vestry  be 
recalled,  and  required  to  pledge  themselves  upon  their  honor 
that  this  affair  should  go  no  farther.  The  motion  being  by  a 
general  union  of  parties  unanimously  agreed  to  (for  everybody 
wanted  to  have  the  belligerents  there,  instead  of  out  of  sight  : 
which  was  no  fun  at  all),  Mr.  Magg  was  deputed  to  recover 
Captain  Banger,  and  Mr.  Chib  himself  to  go  in  search  of 
Mr.  Tiddypot.  The  captain  was  found  in  a conspicuous 
position,  surveying  the  passing  omnibuses  from  the  top  step 
of  the  front-door  immediately  adjoining  the  beadle’s  box;  Mr. 
Tiddypot  made  a desperate  attempt  at  resistance,  but  was 
overpowered  by  Mr.  Chib  (a  remarkably  hale  old  gentleman 
of  eighty-two),  and  brought  back  in  safety. 

Mr.  Tiddypot  and  the  Captain  being  restored  to  their 
places,  and  glaring  on  each  other,  were  called  upon  by  the 
chair  to  abandon  all  homicidal  intentions,  and  give  the  Vestry 
an  assurance  that  they  did  so.  Mr.  Tiddypot  remained  pro- 
foundly silent.  The  Captain  likewise  remained  profoundly 
silent,  saving  that  he  was  observed  by  those  around  him  to 
fold  his  arms  like  Napoleon  Buonaparte,  and  to  snort  in  his 
breathing  — actions  but  too  expressive  of  gunpowder. 

The  most  intense  emotion  now  prevailed.  Several  members 
clustered  in  remonstrance  round  the  Captain,  and  several 
round  Mr.  Tiddypot ; but,  both  were  obdurate.  Mr.  Chib 
then  presented  himself  amid  tremendous  cheering,  and  said, 
that  not  to  shrink  from  the  discharge  of  his  painful  duty,  he 
must  now  move  that  both  honorable  gentlemen  be  taken  into 
custody  by  the  beadte,  and  conveyed  to  the  nearest  police- 
office,  there  to  be  held  to  bail.  The  union  of  parties  still 
continuing,  the  motion  was  seconded  by  Mr.  Wigsby  — on  all 
usual  occasions  Mr.  Chib’s  opponent  — and  rapturously  car- 
ried with  only  one  dissentient  voice.  This  was  Dogginson’s, 
who  said  from  his  place  “ Let  ’em  fight  it  out  with  fistes ; ” 
but  whose  coarse  remark  was  received  as  it  merited. 

The  beadle  now  advanced  along  the  floor  of  the  Vestry, 
and  beckoned  with  his  cocked  hat  to  both  members.  Every 


OUR  VESTRY. 


423 


breath  was  suspended.  To  say  that  a pin  might  have  been 
heard  to  fall,  would  be  feebly  to  express  the  all-absorbing 
interest  and  silence.  Suddenly,  enthusiastic  cheering  broke 
out  from  every  side  of  the  Vestry.  Captain  Banger  had  risen 
— being,  in  fact,  pulled  up  by  a friend  on  either  side,  and 
poked  up  by  a friend  behind. 

The  Captain  said,  in  a deep,  determined  voice,  that  he  had 
every  respect  for  that  Vestry  and  every  respect  for  that  chair ; 
that  he  also  respected  the  honorable  gentleman  of  Gumtion 
House ; but,  that  he  respected  his  honor  more.  Hereupon 
the  Captain  sat  down,  leaving  the  whole  Vestry  much  affected. 
Mr.  Tiddypot  instantly  rose,  and  was  received  with  the  same 
encouragement.  He  likewise  said  — and  the  exquisite  art  of 
this  orator  communicated  to  the  observation  an  air  of  fresh- 
ness and  novelty — that  he  too  had  every  respect  for  that  Ves- 
try ; that  he  too  had  every  respect  for  that  chair.  That  he 
too  respected  that  honorable  and  gallant  gentleman  of  Wil- 
derness Walk;  but,  that  he  too  respected  his  honor  more. 
“Howsoever,”  added  the  distinguished  Vestryman,  “if  the 
honorable  or  gallant  gentleman’s  honor  is  never  more  doubted 
and  damaged  than  it  is  by  me,  he’s  all  right.”  Captain 
Banger  immediately  started  up  again,  and  said  that  after 
those  observations,  involving  as  they  did  ample  concession  to 
his  honor  without  compromising  the  honor  of  the  honorable 
gentleman,  he  would  be  wanting  in  honor  as  well  as  in  gener- 
osity, if  he  did  not  at  once  repudiate  all  intention  of  wound- 
ing the  honor  of  the  honorable  gentleman,  or  saying  anything 
dishonorable  to  his  honorable  feelings.  These  observations 
were  repeatedly  interrupted  by  bursts  of  cheers.  Mr.  Tiddy- 
pot retorted  that  he  well  knew  the  spirit  of  honor  by  which 
the  honorable  and  gallant  gentleman  was  so  honorably  ani- 
mated, and  that  he  accepted  an  honorable  explanation,  offered 
in  a way  that  did  him  honor;  but,  he  trusted  that  the  Vestry 
would  consider  that  his  (Mr.  Tiddypot’s)  honor  had  impera- 
tively demanded  of  him  that  painful  course  which  he  had  felt 
it  due  to  his  honor  to  adopt.  The  Captain  and  Mr.  Tiddypot 
then  touched  their  hats  to  one  another  across  the  Vestry,  a 
great  many  times,  and  it  is  thought  that  these  proceedings 


424 


OUR  VESTRY . 


(reported  to  the  extent  of  several  columns  in  next  Sunday’s 
paper)  will  bring  them  in  as  church  wardens  next  year. 

All  this  was  strictly  after  the  pattern  of  the  real  original, 
and  so  are  the  whole  of  our  Vestry’s  proceedings.  In  all 
their  debates,  they  are  laudably  imitative  of  the  windy  and 
wordy  slang  of  the  real  original,  and  of  nothing  that  is  better 
in  it.  They  have  headstrong  party  animosities,  without  any 
reference  to  the  merits  of  questions ; they  tack  a surprising 
amount  of  debate  to  a very  little  business ; they  set  more 
store  by  forms  than  they  do  by  substances: — all  very  like 
the  real  original ! It  has  been  doubted  in  our  borough, 
whether  our  Vestry  is  of  any  utility;  but  our  own  conclusion 
is,  that  it  is  of  the  use  to  the  Borough  that  a diminishing  mir- 
ror is  to  a Painter,  as  enabling  it  to  perceive  in  a small  focus 
of  absurdity  all  the  surface  defects  of  the  real  original. 


OUR  BORE. 


It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  we  keep  a bore.  Everybody 
does.  But,  the  bore  whom  we  have  the  pleasure  and  honor  of 
enumerating  among  our  particular  friends,  is  such  a generic 
bore,  and  has  so  many  traits  (as  it  appears  to  us)  in  common 
with  the  great  bore  family,  that  we  are  tempted  to  make  him 
the  subject  of  the  present  notes.  May  he  be  generally 
accepted ! 

Our  bore  is  admitted  on  all  hands  to  be  a good-hearted  man. 
He  may  put  fifty  people  out  of  temper,  but  he  keeps  his  own. 
He  preserves  a sickly  solid  smile  upon  his  face,  when  other 
faces  are  ruffled  by  the  perfection  he  has  attained  in  his  art, 
and  has  an  equable  voice  which  never  travels  out  of  one  key 
or  rises  above  one  pitch.  His  manner  is  a manner  of  tranquil 
interest.  Hone  of  his  opinions  are  startling.  Among  his 
deepest-rooted  convictions,  it  may  be  mentioned  that  he  con- 
siders the  air  of  England  damp,  and  holds  that  our  lively 
neighbors — he  always  calls  the  French  our  lively  neighbors 
— have  the  advantage  of  us  in  that  particular,  nevertheless, 
he  is  unable  to  forget  that  John  Bull  is  John  Bull  all  the 
world  over,  and  that  England  with  all  her  faults  is  England 
still. 

Our  bore  has  travelled.  He  could  not  possibly  be  a com- 
plete bore  without  having  travelled.  He  rarely  speaks  of  his 
travels  without  introducing,  sometimes  on  his  own  plan  of 
construction,  morsels  of  the  language  of  the  country  : — which 
he  always  translates.  You  cannot  name  to  him  any  little 
remote  town  in  France,  Italy,  Germany,  or  Switzerland  but  he 
knows  it  well ; stayed  there  a fortnight  under  peculiar  circum- 
stances. And  talking  of  that  little  place,  perhaps  you  know  a 
statue  over  an  old  fountain,  up  a little  court,  which  is  the  sec- 
ond— no,  the  third  — stay  — yes,  the  third  turning  on  the 

425 


426 


OUR  BORE. 


right,  after  you  come  out  of  the  Post  house,  going  up  the  hill 
towards  the  market  ? You  don’t  know  that  statue  ? Nor  that 
fountain  ? You  surprise  him ! They  are  not  usually  seen  by 
travellers  (most  extraordinary,  he  has  never  yet  met  with  a 
single  traveller  who  knew  them,  except  one  German,  the  most 
intelligent  man  he  ever  met  in  his  life  ?)  but  he  thought  that 
you  would  have  been  the  man  to  find  them  out.  And  then  he 
describes  them,  in  a circumstantial  lecture  half  an  hour  long, 
generally  delivered  behind  a door  which  is  constantly  being 
opened  from  the  other  side;  and  implores  you,  if  you  ever 
revisit  that  place,  now  do  go  and  look  at  that  statue  and 
fountain ! 

Our  bore,  in  a similar  manner,  being  in  Italy,  made  a dis- 
covery of  a dreadful  picture,  which  has  been  the  terror  of  a 
large  portion  of  the  civilized  world  ever  since.  We  have  seen 
the  liveliest  men  paralyzed  by  it,  across  a broad  dining-table. 
He  was  lounging  among  the  mountains,  sir,  basking  in  the 
mellow  influences  of  the  climate,  when  he  came  to  una  piccola 
chiesa  — a little  church  — or  perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct 
to  say  una  piccolissima  cappella  — the  smallest  chapel  you  can 
possibly  imagine  — and  walked  in.  There  was  nobody  inside 
but  a cieco  — a blind  man  — saying  his  prayers,  and  a vecchio 
padre  — old  friar  — rattling  a money-box.  But,  above  the 
head  of  that  friar,  and  immediately  to  the  right  of  the  altar  as 
you  enter  — to  the  right  of  the  altar  ? No.  To  the  left  of  the 
altar  as  you  enter  — or  say  near  the  centre  — there  hung  a 
painting  (subject,  Virgin  and  Child)  so  divine  in  its  expression, 
so  pure  and  yet  so  warm  and  rich  in  its  tone,  so  fresh  in  its 
touch,  at  once  so  glowing  in  its  color  and  so  statuesque  in  its 
repose,  that  our  bore  cried  out  in  an  ecstasy,  “ That’s  the  finest 
picture  in  Italy  ! ” And  $o  it  is,  sir.  There  is  no  doubt  of  it. 
It  is  astonishing  that  that  picture  is  so  little  known.  Even 
the  painter  is  uncertain.  He  afterwards  took  Blumb,  of  the 
Royal  Academy  (it  is  to  be  observed  that  our  bore  takes  none 
but  eminent  people  to  see  sights,  and  that  none  but  eminent 
people  take  our  bore),  and  you  never  saw  a man  so  affected  in 
your  life  as  Blumb  was.  He  cried  like  a child ! And  then 
our  bore  begins  his  description  in  detail  — for  all  this  is  intro- 


OUR  BORE. 


427 


ductory  — and  strangles  his  hearers  with  the  folds  of  the  pur- 
ple drapery. 

By  an  equally  fortunate  conjunction  of  accidental  circum- 
stances, it  happened  that  when  our  bore  was  in  Switzerland, 
he  discovered  a Valley,  of  that  superb  character,  that 
Chamouni  is  not  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  it. 
This  is  how  it  was,  sir.  He  was  travelling  on  a mule  — had 
been  in  the  saddle  some  days  — when,  as  he  and  the  guide, 
Pierre  Blanquo  : whom  you  may  know,  perhaps  ? — our  bore 
is  sorry  you  don’t,  because  he  is  the  only  guide  deserving  of 
the  name  — as  he  and  Pierre  were  descending,  towards  even- 
ing, among  those  everlasting  snows,  to  the  little  village  of  La 
Croix,  our  bore  observed  a mountain  track  turning  off  sharply 
to  the  right.  At  first  he  was  uncertain  whether  it  was  a track 
at  all,  and  in  fact,  he  said  to  Pierre,  “ Qu’est  que  c’est  done , 
mon  ami ? — What  is  that,  my  friend?”  “ Oil,  monsieur?  ” 
said  Pierre  — “ Where,  sir  ? ” “ Ld ! — there  ! ” said  our  bore. 

“ Monsieur , ce  n’est  rien  de  tout — sir,  it’s  nothing  at  all,”  said 
Pierre.  “ Allons  l — Make  haste.  11  va  neiger  — it’s  going  to 
snow ! ” But,  our  bore  was  not  to  be  done  in  that  way,  and 
he  firmly  replied,  “ I wish  to  go  in  that  direction  — je  veux  y 
alter.  I am  bent  upon  it  — je  suis  determine.  En  avant ! — go 
ahead ! ” In  consequence  of  which  firmness  on  our  bore’s 
part,  they  proceeded,  sir,  during  two  hours  of  evening,  and 
three  of  moonlight  (they  waited  in  a cavern  till  the  moon  was 
up),  along  the  slenderest  track,  overhanging  perpendicularly 
the  most  awful  gulfs,  until  they  arrived,  by  a winding  descent, 
in  a valley  that  possibly,  and  he  may  say  probably,  was  never 
visited  by  any  stranger  before.  What  a valley  ! Mountains 
piled  on  mountains,  avalanches  stemmed  by  pine  forests ; 
waterfalls,  chalets,  mountain-torrents,  wooden  bridges,  every 
conceivable  picture  of  Swiss  scenery ! The  whole  village 
turned  out  to  receive  our  bore.  The  peasant  girls  kissed  him, 
the  men  shook  hands  with  him,  one  old  lady  of  benevolent 
appearance  wept  upon  his  breast.  He  was  conducted,  in  a 
primitive  triumph,  to  the  little  inn : where  he  was  taken  ill 
next  morning,  and  lay  for  six  weeks,  attended  by  the  amiable 
hostess  (the  same  benevolent  old  lady  who  had  wept  over 
night)  and  her  charming  daughter,  Fanchette.  It  is  nothing  to 


428 


OUR  BORE. 


say  that  they  were  attentive  to-  him  ; they  doted  on  him.  They 
called  him  in  their  simple  way,  VAnge  Anglais  — the  English 
Angel.  When  our  bore  left  the  valley,  there  was  not  a dry 
eye  in  the  place ; some  of  the  people  attended  him  for  miles. 
He  begs  and  entreats  of  you  as  a personal  favor,  that  if  you 
ever  go  to  Switzerland  again  (you  have  mentioned  that  your 
last  visit  was  your  twenty -third),  you  will  go  to  that  valley, 
and  see  Swiss  scenery  for  the  first  time.  And  if  you  want 
really  to  know  the  pastoral  people  of  Switzerland,  and  to  un- 
derstand them,  mention,  in  that  valley,  our  bore’s  name ! 

Our  bore  has  a crushing  brother  in  the  East,  who,  somehow 
or  other,  was  admitted  to  smoke  pipes  with  Mehemet  Ali,  and 
instantly  became  an  authority  on  the  whole  range  of  Eastern 
matters,  from  Haroun  Alraschid  to  the  present  Sultan.  He  is 
in  the  habit  of  expressing  mysterious  opinions  on  this  wide 
range  of  subjects,  but  on  questions  of  foreign  policy  more  par- 
ticularly, to  our  bore,  in  letters ; and  our  bore  is  continually 
sending  bits  of  these  letters  to  the  newspapers  (which  they 
never  insert),  and  carrying  other  bits  about  in  his  pocket-book. 
It  is  even  whispered  that  he  has  been  seen  at  the  Foreign  Of- 
fice, receiving  great  consideration  from  the  messengers,  and 
having  his  card  promptly  borne  into  the  sanctuary  of  the  tem- 
ple. The  havoc  committed  in  society  by  this  Eastern  brother 
is  beyond  belief.  Our  bore  is  always  ready  with  him.  We 
have  known  our  bore  to  fall  upon  an  intelligent  young  sojourner 
in  the  wilderness,  in  the  first  sentence  of  a narrative,  and  beat 
all  confidence  out  of  him  with  one  blow  of  his  brother.  He 
became  omniscient,  as  to  foreign  policy,  in  the  smoking  of 
those  pipes  with  Mehemet  Ali.  The  balance  of  power  in  Eu- 
rope, the  machinations  of  the  Jesuits,  the  gentle  and  humaniz- 
ing influence  of  Austria,  the  position  and  prospects  of  that 
hero  of  the  noble  soul  who  is  worshipped  by  happy  France,  are 
all  easy  reading  to  our  bore’s  brother.  And  our  bore  is  so  pro- 
vokingly  self-denying  about  him  ! “ I don’t  pretend  to  more 

than  a very  general  knowledge  of  these  subjects  myself,”  says 
he,  after  enervating  the  intellects  of  several  strong  men,  “ but 
these  are  my  brother’s  opinions,  and  I believe  he  is  known  to 
be  well-informed.” 

The  commonest  incidents  and  places  would  appear  to  have 


OUR  BORE. 


429 


been  made  special,  expressly  for  our  bore.  Ask  him  whether 
he  ever  chanced  to  walk,  between  seven  and  eight  in  the 
morning,  down  St.  James’s  Street,  London,  and  he  will  tell 
you,  never  in  his  life  but  once.  But,  it’s  curious  that  that 
once  was  in  eighteen  thirty ; and  that  as  our  bore  was  walking 
down  the  street  you  have  just  mentioned,  at  the  hour  you  have 
just  mentioned  — half-past  seven  — or  twenty  minutes  to  eight. 
No  ! Let  him  be  correct ! — exactly  a quarter  before  eight  by 
the  Palace  clock  — he  met  a fresh-colored,  gray-haired,  good- 
humored  looking  gentleman,  with  a brown  umbrella,  who, 
as  he  passed  him,  touched  his  hat  and  said,  “ Pine  morning, 
sir,  fine  morning  ! ” — William  the  Fourth  ! 

Ask  our  bore  whether  he  has  seen  Mr.  Barry’s  new  Houses 
of  Parliament,  and  he  will  reply  that  he  has  not  yet  inspected 
them  minutely,  but,  that  you  remind  him  that  it  was  his 
singular  fortune  to  be  the  last  man  to  see  the  old  Houses  of 
Parliament  before  the  fire  broke  out.  It  happened  in  this 
way.  Poor  John  Spine,  the  celebrated  novelist,  had  taken 
him  over  to  South  Lambeth  to  read  to  him  the  last  few 
chapters  of  what  was  certainly  his  best  book  — as  our  bore 
told  him  at  the  time,  adding,  “Now,  my  dear  John,  touch  it, 
and  you’ll  spoil  it ! ” — and  our  bore  was  going  back  to  the 
club  by  way  of  Millbank  and  Parliament  Street,  when  he 
stopped  to  think  of  Canning,  and  look  at  the  Houses  of  Par- 
liament. Now,  you  know  far  more  of  the  philosophy  of  Mind 
than  our  bore  does,  and  are  much  better  able  to  explain  to 
him  than  he  is  to  explain  to  you  why  or  wherefore,  at  that 
particular  time,  the  thought  of  fire  should  come  into  his  head. 
But,  it  did.  It  did.  He  thought,  What  a national  calamity 
if  an  edifice  connected  with  so  many  associations  should  be 
consumed  by  fire  ! At  that  time  there  was  not  a single  soul 
in  the  street  but  himself.  All  was  quiet,  dark,  and  solitary. 
After  contemplating  the  building  for  a minute  — or,  say  a 
minute  and  a half,  not  more  — our  bore  proceeded  on  his  way, 
mechanically  repeating,  What  a national  calamity  if  such  an 
edifice,  connected  with  such  associations,  should  be  destroyed 
by  — A man  coming  towards  him  in  a violent  state  of  agi- 
tation completed  the  sentence,  with  the  exclamation,  Fire ! 
Our  bore  looked  round,  and  the  whole  structure  was  in  a blaze. 


430 


OUR  BORE . 


In  harmony  and  union  with  these  experiences,  our  bore 
never  went  anywhere  in  a steamboat  but  he  made  either  the 
best  or  the  worst  voyage  ever  known  on  that  station.  Either 
he  overheard  the  captain  say  to  himself,  with  his  hands 
clasped,  “We  are  all  lost!”  or  the  captain  openly  declared 
to  him  that  he  had  never  made  such  a run  before,  and  never 
should  be  able  to  do  it  again.  Our  bore  was  in  that  express 
train  on  that  railway,  when  they  made  (unknown  to  the  pas- 
sengers) the  experiment  of  going  at  the  rate  of  a hundred  miles 
an  hour.  Our  bore  remarked  on  that  occasion  to  the  other 
people  in  the  carriage,  “ This  is  too  fast,  but  sit  still ! ” He 
was  at  the  Norwich  musical  festival  when  the  extraordinary 
echo  for  which  science  has  been  wholly  unable  to  account, 
was  heard  for  the  first  and  last  time.  He  and  the  bishop 
heard  it  at  the  same  moment,  and  caught  each  other’s  eye. 
He  was  present  at  that  illumination  of  St.  Peter’s,  of  which 
the  Pope  is  known  to  have  remarked,  as  he  looked  at  it  out  of 
his  window  in  the  Vatican,  “ 0 Cielo!  Questa  cosa  non  sara 
fatta , max  ancora , come  questa — 0 Heaven!  this  thing  will 
never  be  done  again,  like  this  ! ” He  has  seen  every  lion  he 
ever  saw,  under  some  remarkably  propitious  circumstances. 
He  knows  there  is  no  fancy  in  it,  because  in  every  case  the 
showman  mentioned  the  fact  at  the  time,  and  congratulated 
him  upon  it. 

At  one  period  of  his  life,  our  bore  had  an  illness.  It  was 
an  illness  of  a dangerous  character  for  society  at  large.  Inno- 
cently remark  that  you  are  very  well,  or  that  somebody  else  is 
very  well ; and  our  bore,  with  a preface  that  one  never  knows 
what  a blessing  health  is  until  one  has  lost  it,  is  reminded  of 
that  illness,  and  drags  you  through  the  whole  of  its  symptoms, 
progress,  and  treatment.  Innocently  remark  that  you  are  not 
well,  or  that  somebody  else  is  not  well,  and  the  same  in- 
evitable result  ensues.  You  will  learn  how  our  bore  felt  a 
tightness  about  here,  sir,  for  which  he  couldn’t  account, 
accompanied  with  a constant  sensation  as  if  he  were  bekig" 
stabbed  — or,  rather,  jobbed  — that  expresses  it  more  correctly 
— jobbed  — with  a blunt  knife.  Well,  sir!  This  went  on, 
until  sparks  begin  to  flit  before  his  eyes,  water-wheels  to  turn 
round  in  his  head,  and  hammers  to  beat  incessantly  thump, 


OUE  BOBE. 


481 


thump,  thump,  all  down  his  back  — along  the  whole  of  the 
spinal  vertebrae.  Our  bore,  when  his  sensations  had  come  to 
this,  thought  it  a duty  he  owed  to  himself  to  take  advice,  and 
he  said,  Now,  whom  shall  I consult  ? He  naturally  thought 
of  Callow,  at  that  time  one  of  the  most  eminent  physicians 
in  London,  and  he  went  to  Callow.  Callow  said,  "Liver!” 
and  prescribed  rhubarb  and  calomel,  low  diet,  and  moderate 
exercise.  Our  bore  went  on  with  this  treatment,  getting 
worse  every  day,  until  he  lost  confidence  in  Callow,  and  went 
to  Moon,  whom  half  the  town  was  then  mad  about.  Moon 
was  interested  in  the  case;  to  do  him  justice  he  was  very 
much  interested  in  the  case  ; and  he  said,  " Kidneys  ! ” He 
altered  the  whole  treatment,  sir — gave  strong  acids,  cupped, 
and  blistered.  This  went  on,  our  bore  still  getting  worse 
every  day,  until  he  openly  told  Moon  it  would  be  a satis- 
faction to  him  if  he  would  have  a consultation  with  Clatter. 
The  moment  Clatter  saw  our  bore,  he  said,  "Accumulation  of 
fat  about  the  heart ! ” Snugglewood,  who  was  called  in  with 
him,  differed,  and  said,  “ Brain !”  But,  what  they  all  agreed 
upon  was,  to  lay  our  bore  upon  his  back,  to  shave  his  head,  to 
leech  him,  to  administer  enormous  quantities  of  medicine,  and 
to  keep  him  low ; so  that  he  was  reduced  to  a mere  shadow, 
you  wouldn’t  have  known  him,  and  nobody  considered  it 
possible  that  he  could  ever  recover.  This  was  his  condition, 
sir,  when  he  heard  of  Jilkins  — at  that  period  in  a very  small 
# practice,  and  living  in  the  upper  part  of  a house  in  Great 
Portland  Street ; but  still,  you  understand,  with  a rising  repu- 
* tation  among  the  ie^g  people  to  whom  he  was  known.  Being 
in  that  condition  in  which  a drowning  man  catches  at  a straw, 
our  bore  sent  for  Jilkins.  Jilkins  came.  Our  bore  liked  his 
eye,  and  said,  “ Mr.  Jilkins,  I have  a presentiment  that  you 
will  do  me  good.”  Jilkins’s  reply  was  characteristic  of  the  man. 
It  was,  "Sir,  I mean  to  do  you  good.”  This  confirmed  our 
bore’s  opinion  of  his  eye,  and  they  went  into  the  case  together 
— went  completely  into  it.  Jilkins  then  got  up,  walked  across 
the  room,  came  back,  and  sat  down.  His  words  were  these. 
“ You  have  been  humbugged.  This  is  a case  of  indigestion, 
occasioned  by  deficiency  of  power  in  the  Stomach.  Take  a 
mutton  chop  in  half-an-hour,  with  a glass  of  the  finest  old 


432 


OUB  BOBK 


sherry  that  can  be  got  for  money.  Take  two  mutton  chops 
to-morrow,  and  two  glasses  of  the  finest  old  sherry.  Next  day, 
I’ll  come  again.”  In  a week  our  bore  was  on  his  legs,  and 
Jilkins’s  success  dates  from  that  period ! 

Our  bore  is  great  in  secret  information.  He  happens  to 
know  many  things  that  nobody  else  knows.  He  can  generally 
tell  you  where  the  split  is  in  the  Ministry ; he  knows  a deal 
about  the  Queen ; and  has  little  anecdotes  to  relate  of  the 
royal  nursery.  He  gives  you  the  judge’s  private  opinion  of 
Sludge  the  murderer,  and  his  thoughts  when  he  tried  him. 
He  happens  to  know  what  such  a man  got  by  such  a transac- 
tion, and  it  was  fifteen  thousand  five  hundred  pounds,  and  his 
income  is  twelve  thousand  a year.  Our  bore  is  also  great  in 
mystery.  He  believes,  with  an  exasperating  appearance  of 
profound  meaning,  that  you  saw  Parkins  last  Sunday  ? — Yes, 
you  did. — Did  he  say  anything  particular?  — No,  nothing 
particular.  — Our  bore  is  surprised  at  that.  — Why  ? — Nothing. 
Only  he  understood  that  Parkins  had  come  to  tell  you  some- 
thing.— What  about?  — Well!  our  bore  is  not  at  liberty  to 
mention  what  about.  But,  he  believes  you  will  hear  that  from 
Parkins  himself,  soon,  and  he  hopes  it  may  not  surprise  you 
as  it  did  him.  Perhaps,  however,  you  never  heard  about 
Parkins’s  wife’s  sister? — No.  — Ah!  says  our  bore,  that  ex- 
plains it ! 

Our  bore  is  also  great  in  argument.  He  infinitely  enjoys  a 
long  humdrum,  drowsy  interchange  of  words  of  dispute  abo*t 
nothing.  He  considers  that  it  strengthens  the  mind,  cons^ 
quently,  he  “ don’t  see  that,”  very  often.  Or,  he  would  be 
glad  to  know  what  you  mean  by  that.  Or,  he  doubts  that? 
Or,  he  has  always  understood  exactly  the  reverse  of  that.  Or, 
he  can’t  admit  that.  Or,  he  begs  to  deny  that.  Or,  surely 
you  don’t  mean  that.  And  so  on.  He  once  advised  us  ; offer^8 
us  a piece  of  advice,  after  the  fact,  totally  impracticable  %nd 
wholly  impossible  of  acceptance,  because  it  supposed  the  fact,  * 
then  eternally  disposed  of,  to  be  f e t in  abeyance.  It  was  a 
dozen  years  ago,  and  to  this  hour  our  bore  benevolently  wishes, 
in  a mild  voice,  on  certain  regular  occasions,  that  we  had 
thought  better  of  his  opinion. 

The  instinct  with  which  our  bore  finds  out  another  bore,  and 


OUR  BORE. 


433 


closes  with  him  is  amazing.  We  have  seen  him  pick  his  man 
out  of  fifty  men,  in  a couple  of  minutes.  They  love  to  go 
(which  they  do  naturally)  into  a slow  argument  on  a pre- 
viously exhausted  subject,  and  to  contradict  each  other,  and  to 
wear  the  hearers  out,  without  impairing  their  own  perennial 
freshness  as  bores.  It  improves  the  good  understanding 
between  them,  and  they  get  together  afterwards,  and  bore 
each  other  amicably.  Whenever  we  see  our  bore  behind  a 
door  wdth  another  bore,  we  know  that  when  he  comes  forth, 
he  will  praise  the  other  bore  as  one  of  the  most  intelligent 
men  he  ever  met.  And  this  bringing  us  to  the  close  of  what 
we  had  to  say  about  our  bore,  we  are  anxious  to  have  it  under- 
stood that  he  never  bestowed  this  praise  on  us. 
vol.  n — 28 


# 

* 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY. 


It  was  profoundly  observed  by  a witty  member  of  the 
Court  of  Common  Council,  in  Council  assembled  in  the  City 
of  London,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  fifty,  that  the  French  are  a frog-eating  people,  who 
wear  wooden  shoes. 

We  are  credibly  informed,  in  reference  to  the  nation  whom 
this  choice  spirit  so  happily  disposed  of,  that  the  caricatures 
and  stage  representations  which  were  current  in  England  some 
half  a century  ago,  exactly  depict  their  present  condition. 
For  example,  we  understand  that  every  Frenchman,  without 
exception,  wears  a pigtail  and  curl-papers.  That  he  is  ex- 
tremely sallow,  thin,  long-faced,  and  lantern- jawed.  That  the 
calves  of  his  legs  are  invariably  undeveloped ; that  his  legs 
fail  at  the  knees,  and  that  his  shoulders  are  always  higher 
than  his  ears.  We  are  likewise  assured  that  he  rarely  Pastes 
any  food  but  soup  maigre,  and  an  onion ; that  he  always  says, 
“By  Gar!  Aha!  Yat  you  tell  me,  Sare?”  at  the  end  of 
every  sentence  he  utters ; and  that  the  true  generic  name  of 
his  race  is  the  Mounseers,  or  the  Parly-voos.  If  he  be  not 
a dancing-master,  or  a barber,  he  must  be  a cook;  since  no 
other  trades  but  those  three  are  congenial  to  the  tastes  of  the 
people,  or  permitted  by  the  Institutions  of  the  country.  He  is 
a slave,  of  course.  The  ladies  of  France  (who  are  also  slaves) 
invariably  have  their  heads  tied  up  in  Belcher  handkerchiefs, 
wear  long  ear-rings,  carry  tambourines,  and  beguile  the  weari- 
ness of  their  yoke  by  singing  in  head  voices  through  their 
noses  — principally  to  barrel-organs. 

It  may  be  generally  summed  up,  of  this  inferior  people,  that 
they  have  no  idea  of  anything. 

Of  a great  Institution  like  Smithfield,  they  are  unable  to 
form  the  least  conception.  A Beast  Market  in  the  heart  of 

434 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY. 


435 


Paris  would  be  regarded  an  impossible  nuisance.  Nor  have 
they  any  notion  of  slaughter-houses  in  the  midst  of  a city. 
One  of  these  benighted  frog-eaters  would  scarcely  understand 
your  meaning,  if  you  told  him  (S*Ehe  existence  of  such  a Brit- 
ish bulwark. 

It  is  agreeable,  and  perhaps  pardonable,  to  indulge  in  a little 
self-complacency  when  our  right  to  it  is  thoroughly  established. 
At  the  present  time,  to  be  rendered  memorable  by  a final  at- 
tack on  that  good  old  market  which  is  the  (rotten)  apple  of 
the  Corporation’s  eye,  let  us  compare  ourselves,  to  our  national 
delight  and  pride  as  to  these  two  subjects  of  slaughter-house 
and  beast-market,  with  the  outlandish  foreigner. 

The  blessings  of  Smithfield  are  too  well  understood  to  need 
recapitulation ; all  who  run  (away  from  mad  bulls  and  pur- 
suing oxen)  may  read.  Any  market-day  they  may  be  beheld 
in  glorious  action.  Possibly  the  merits  of  our  slaughter-houses 
are  not  yet  quite  so  generally  appreciated. 

Slaughter-houses,  in  the  large  towns  of  England,  are  al- 
ways (with  the  exception  of  one  of  two  enterprising  towns) 
most  numerous  in  the  most  densely  crowded  places,  where 
there  is  the  least  circulation  of  air.  They  are  often  under- 
ground, in  cellars ; they  are  sometimes  in  close  back  yards ; 
sometimes  (as  in  Spitalfields)  in  the  very  shops  where  the 
meat  is  sold.  Occasionally,  under  good  private  management, 
they  are  ventilated  and  clean.  For  the  most  part,  they  are 
unventilated  and  dirty ; and,  to  the  reeking  walls,  putrid  fat 
and  other  offensive  animal  matter  clings  with  a tenacious  hold. 
The  busiest  slaughter-houses  in  London  are  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Smithfield,  in  Newgate  Market,  in  Whitechapel,  in 
Newport  Market,  in  Leadenhall  Market,  in  Clare-Market.  All 
these  places  are  surrounded  by  houses  of  a poor  description, 
1 swarming  with  inhabitants.  Some  of  them  are  close  to  the 
worst  burial-grounds  in  London.  When  the  slaughter-house  is 
below  the  ground,  it  is  a common  practice  to  throw  the  sheep 
down  areas,  neck  and  crop  — which  is  exciting,  but  not  at  all 
cruel.  When  it  is  on  the  level  surface,  it  is  often  extremely 
difficult  of  approach.  Then,  the  beasts  have  to  be  worried, 
and  goaded,  and  pronged,  and  tail-twisted,  for  a long  time 
before  they  can  be  got  in  — which  is  entirely  owing  to  their 


486 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY . 


natural  obstinacy.  When  it  is  not  difficult  of  approach, 
but  is  in  a foul  condition,  what  they  see  and  scent  makes 
them  still  more  reluctant  to  enter  — which  is  their  natural 
obstinacy  again.  When  they  do  get  in  at  last,  after  no  trouble 
and  suffering  to  speak  of  (for,  there  is  nothing  in  the  pre- 
vious journey  into  the  heart  of  London,  the  night’s  endurance 
in  Smithfield,  the  struggle  out  again,  among  the  crowded  mul- 
titude, the  coaches,  carts,  wagons,  omnibuses,  gigs,  chaises, 
phaetons,  cabs,  trucks,  dogs,  boys,  whoopings,  roarings,  and 
ten  thousand  other  distractions),  they  are  represented  to  be  in 
a most  unfit  state  to  be  killed,  according  to  microscopic  exam- 
inations made  of  their  fevered  blood  by  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished physiologists  in  the  world,  Professor  Owen  — but 
that’s  humbug.  When  they  are  killed,  at  last,  their  reeking 
carcasses  are  hung  in  impure  air,  to  become,  as  the  same  Pro- 
fessor will  explain  to  you,  less  nutritious  and  more  unwhole- 
some— but  he  is  only  an  uncommon  counsellor,  so  don’t  mind 
Mm.  In  half  a quarter  of  a mile’s  length  of  Whitechapel,  at 
one  time,  there  shall  be  six  hundred  newly  slaughtered  oxen 
hanging  up,  and  seven  hundred  sheep  — but,  the  more  the 
merrier  — proof  of  prosperity.  Hard  by  Snow  Hill  and  War- 
wick Lane,  you  shall  see  the  little  children,  inured  to  sights  of 
brutality  from  their  birth,  trotting  along  the  alleys,  mingled 
with  troops  of  horribly  busy  pigs,  up  to  their  ankles  in  blood 
— but  it  makes  the  young  rascals  hardy.  Into  the  imperfect 
sewers  of  this  overgrown  city,  you  shall  have  the  immense 
mass  of  corruption,  engendered  by  these  practices,  lazily 
thrown  out  of  sight,  to  rise,  in  poisonous  gases,  into  your 
house  at  night,  when  your  sleeping  children  will  most  readily 
absorb  them,  and  to  find  its  languid  wa y,  at  last,  into  the  river 
that  you  drink  — but,  the  Prench,  are  a f rog-eating  people  who 
wear  wooden  shoes,  and  it’s  0 the  roast  beef  of  England,  my 
boy,  the  jolly  old  English  roast  beef. 

It  is  quite  a mistake  — a new-fangled  notion  altogether  — to 
suppose  that  there  is  any  natural  antagonism  between  putre- 
faction and  health.  They  know  better  than  that,  in  the  Com- 
mon Council.  You  may  talk  about  Nature,  in  her  wisdom, 
always  warning  man  through  his  sense  of  smell,  when  he 
draws  near  to  something  dangerous ; but,  that  won’t  go  down 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY. 


437 


in  the  city.  Nature  very  often  don’t  mean  anything.  Mrs. 
Quickly  says  that  prunes  are  ill  for  a green  wound ; but  who- 
soever says  that  putrid  animal  substances  are  ill  for  a green 
wound,  or  for  robust  vigor,  or  for  any  thing  or  for  any  body, 
is  a humanity-monger  and  a humbug.  Britons  never,  never, 
never,  etc.,  therefore.  And  prosperity  to  cattle-driving,  cat- 
tle-slaughtering, bone-crushing,  blood-boiling,  trotter-scraping, 
tripe-dressing,  paunch-cleaning,  gut-spinning,  hide-preparing, 
tallow-melting,  and  other  salubrious  proceedings,  in  the  midst 
of  hospitals,  churchyards,  workhouses,  schools,  infirmaries, 
refuges,  dwellings,  provision-shops,  nurseries,  sick-beds,  every 
stage  and  baiting-place  in  the  journey  from  birth  to  death  ! 

These  uncommon  counsellors,  your  Professor  Owens  and  fel- 
lows, will  contend  that  to  tolerate  these  things  in  a civilized 
city,  is  to  reduce  it  to  a worse  condition  than  Bruce  found  to 
prevail  in  Abyssinia.  For,  there  (say  they)  the  jackals  and 
wild  dogs  came  at  night  to  devour  the  offal ; whereas  here 
there  are  no  such  natural  scavengers,  and  quite  as  savage  cus- 
toms. Further,  they  will  demonstrate  that  nothing  in  Nature 
is  intended  to  be  wasted,  and  that  besides  the  waste  which 
such  abuses  occasion  in  the  articles  of  health  and  life  — main 
sources  of  the  riches  of  any  community  — they  lead  to  a pro- 
digious waste  of  changing  matters,  which  might,  with  proper 
preparation,  and  under  scientific  direction,  be  safely  applied 
to  the  increase  of  the  fertility  of  the  land.  Thus  (they  argue) 
does  Nature  ever  avenge  infractions  of  her  beneficent  laws, 
and  so  surely  as  Man  is  determined  to  warp  any  of  her  bless- 
ings into  curses,  shall  they  become  curses,  and  shall  he  suffer 
heavily.  But,  this  is  cant.  Just  as  it  is  cant  of  the  worst 
^ description  to  say  to  the  London  Corporation,  u How  can  you 
exhibit  to  the  people  so  plain  a spectacle  of  dishonest  equivo- 
cation, as  to  claim  the  right  of  holding  a market  in  the  midst 
of  the  great  city,  for  one  of  your  vested  privileges,  when  you 
know  that  when  your  last  market-holding  charter  was  granted 
to  you  by  King  Charles  the  First,  Smithfield  stood  in  the 
Suburbs  of  London,  and  is  in  that  very  charter  so  described 
in  those  five  words  ? ” — which  is  certainly  true,  but  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  question. 

Now  to  the  comparison,  in  these  particulars  of  civilization, 


438 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY . 


between  the  capital  of  England,  and  the  capital  of  that  frog- 
eating and  wooden-shoe  wearing  country,  which  the  illustrious 
Common  Councilman  so  sarcastically  settled. 

In  Paris,  there  is  no  Cattle  Market.  Cows  and  calves  are 
sold  within  the  city,  but,  the  Cattle  Markets  are  at  Poissy, 
about  thirteen  miles  off,  on  a line  of  railway;  and  at  Sceaux, 
about  five  miles  off.  The  Poissy  market  is  held  every  Thurs- 
day ; the  Sceaux  market,  every  Monday.  In  Paris,  there  are 
no  slaughter-houses,  in  our  acceptation  of  the  term.  There 
are  five  public  Abattoirs  — within  the  walls,  though  in  the 
suburbs  — and  in  these  all  the  slaughtering  for  the  city  must 
be  performed.  They  are  managed  by  a Syndicat  or  Guild  of 
Butchers,  who  confer  with  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  on  all 
matters  affecting  the  trade,  and  who  are  consulted  when  any 
new  regulations  are  contemplated  for  its  government.  They 
are,  likewise,  under  the  vigilant  superintendence  of  the  police. 
Every  butcher  must  be  licensed  : which  proves  him  at  once  to 
be  a slave,  for  we  don't  license  butchers  in  England — we  only 
license  apothecaries,  attorneys,  postmasters,  publicans,  hawk- 
ers, retailers  of  tobacco,  snuff,  pepper,  and  vinegar  — and  one 
or  two  other  little  trades  not  worth  mentioning.  Every  ar- 
rangement in  connection  with  the  slaughtering  and  sale  of 
meat,  is  matter  of  strict  police  regulation.  (Slavery  again, 
though  we  certainly  have  a general  sort  of  a Police  Act  here.) 

But,  in  order  that  the  reader  may  understand  what  a mon- 
ument of  folly  these  frog-eaters  have  raised  in  their  abattoirs 
and  cattle-markets,  and  may  compare  it  with  what  common 
counselling  has  done  for  us  all  these  years,  and  would  still  do 
but  for  the  innovating  spirit  of  the  times,  here  follows  a short 
account  of  a recent  visit  to  these  places  : 

It  was  as  sharp  a February  morning  as  you  would  desire  to 
feel  at  your  fingers'  ends  when  I turned  out  — tumbling  over  a 
chiffonier  with  his  little  basket  and  rake,  who  was  picking  up 
the  bits  of  colored  paper  that  had  been  swept  out,  over-night, 
from  a Bon-Bon  shop  — to  take  the  Butchers'  Train  to  Poissy. 
A cold  dim  light  just  touched  the  high  roofs  of  the  Tuileries 
which  have  seen  such  changes,  such  distracted  crowds,  such 
riot  and  bloodshed ; and  they  looked  as  calm,  and  as  old,  all 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY. 


439 


covered  with,  white  frost,  as  the  very  Pyramids.  There  was 
not  light  enough,  yet,  to  strike  upon  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame 
across  the  water ; but  I thought  of  the  dark  pavement  of  the 
old  Cathedral  as  just  beginning  to  be  streaked  with  gray ; and 
of  the  lamps  in  the  “ House  of  God,”  the  Hospital  close  to  it, 
burning  low  and  being  quenched;  and  of  the  keeper  of  the 
Morgue  going  about  with  a fading  lantern,  busy  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  his  terrible  wax-work  for  another  sunny  day. 

The  sun  was  up,  and  shining  merrily  when  the  butchers 
and  I announcing  our  departure  with  an  engine-shriek  to 
sleepy  Paris,  rattled  away  for  the  Cattle  Market.  Across  the 
country,  over  the  Seine,  among  a forest  of  scrubby  trees  — the 
hoar  frost  lying  cold  in  shady  places,  and  glittering  in  the 
light  — and  here  we  are  at  Poissy  ! Out  leap  the  butchers 
who  have  been  chattering  all  the  way  like  madmen,  and  off 
they  straggle  for  the  Cattle  Market  (still  chattering,  of  course, 
incessantly),  in  hats  and  caps  of  all  shapes,  in  coats  and 
blouses,  in  calf-skins,  cow-skins,  horse-skins,  furs,  shaggy 
mantles,  hairy  coats,  sacking,  baize,  oil-skin,  anything  you 
please  that  will  keep  a man  and  a butcher  warm,  upon  a frosty 
morning. 

Many  a Prench  town  have  I seen,  between  this  spot  of 
ground  and  Strasburgb  or  Marseilles,  that  might  sit  for  your 
picture,  little  Poissy  ! Barring  the  details  of  your  old  church, 
I know  you  well,  albeit  we  make  acquaintance,  now,  for  the 
first  time.  I know  your  narrow,  straggling,  winding  streets, 
with  a kennel  in  the  midst,  and  lamps  slung  across.  I know 
your  picturesque  street-corners,  winding  up-hill  Heaven  knows 
why  or  where  ! I know  your  tradesmen’s  inscriptions,  in  let- 
ters not  quite  fat  enough ; your  barber’s  brazen  basins  dangling 
over  little  shops  ; your  Cafes  and  Estaminets,  with  cloudy 
bottles  of  stale  syrup  in  the  windows,  and  pictures  of  crossed 
billiard-cues  outside.  I know  this  identical  gray  horse  with 
his  tail  rolled  up  in  a knot  like  the  “ back  hair  ” of  an  untidy 
woman,  who  won’t  be  shod,  and  who  makes  himself  heraldic 
by  clattering  across  the  street  on  his  hind  legs,  while  twenty 
voices  shriek  and  growl  at  him  as  a Brigand,  an  accursed 
Bobber,  and  an  everlastingly-doomed  Pig.  I know  your 
sparkling  town-fountain  too,  my  Poissy,  and  am  glad  to  see  it 


440 


A MONUMENT  OF  FLENCH  FOLLY . 


near  a cattle-market,  gushing  so  freshly,  under  the  auspices 
of  a gallant  little  sublimated  Frenchman  wrought  in  metal, 
perched  upon  the  top.  Through  all  the  land  of  France  I 
know  this  unswept  room  at  the  Glory,  with  its  peculiar  smell 
of  beans  and  coffee,  where  the  butchers  crowd  about  the  stove, 
drinking  the  thinnest  of  wine  from  the  smallest  of  tumblers  ; 
where  the  thickest  of  coffee-cups  mingle  with  the  longest  of 
loaves,  and  the  weakest  of  lump  sugar ; where  Madame  at  the 
counter  easily  acknowledges  the  homage  of  all  entering  and 
departing  butchers ; where  the  billiard-table  is  covered  up 
in  the  midst  like  a great  bird-cage  — but  the  bird  may  sing 
by  and  by ! 

A bell ! The  Calf  Market ! Polite  departure  of  butchers. 
Hasty  payment  and  departure  on  the  part  of  amateur  Visitor. 
Madame  reproaches  Ma’amselle  for  too  fine  a susceptibility 
in  reference  to  the  devotion  of  a Butcher  in  a bear-skin. 
Monsieur,  the  landlord  of  The  Glory,  counts  a double  handful 
of  sous,  without  an  unobliterated  inscription,  or  an  undamaged 
crowned  head,  among  them. 

There  is  little  noise  without,  abundant  space,  and  no  confu- 
sion. The  open  area  devoted  to  the  market,  is  divided  into 
three  portions  : the  Calf  Market,  the  Cattle  Market,  the  Sheep 
Market.  Calves  at  eight,  cattle  at  ten,  sheep  at  mid-day.  All 
is  very  clean. 

The  Calf  Market  is  a raised  platform  of  stone,  some  three 
or  four  feet  high,  open  on  all  sides,  with  a lofty  over-spreading 
roof,  supported  on  stone  columns,  which  give  it  the  appearance 
of  a sort  of  vineyard  from  Northern  Italy.  Here,  on  the  raised 
pavement,  lie  innumerable  calves,  all  bound  hind-legs  and 
fore-legs  together,  and  all  trembling  violently  — perhaps  with 
cold,  perhaps  with  fear,  perhaps  with  pain ; for,  this  mode  of 
tying,  which  seems  to  be  an  absolute  superstition  with  the 
peasantry,  can  hardly  fail  to  cause  great  suffering.  Here 
they  lie,  patiently  in  rows,  among  the  straw,  with  their  stolid 
faces  and  inexpressive  eyes,  superintended  by  men  and  women, 
boys  and  girls  ; here  they  are  inspected  by  our  friends,  the 
butchers,  bargained  for,  and  bought.  Plenty  of  time ; plenty 
of  room;  plenty  of  good  humor.  “ Monsieur  Frangois  in  the 
bear-skin,  how  do  you  do,  my  friend  ? You  come  from  Paris  by 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY . 


441 


the  train  ? The  fresh  air  does  you  good.  If  you  are  iu  want 
of  three  or  four  line  calves  this  market-morning,  my  angel,  I, 
Madame  Doche,  shall  be  happy  to  deal  with  you.  Behold 
these  calves,  Monsieur  Brandis  ! Great  Heaven,  you  are 
doubtful ! Well,  sir,  walk  round  and  look  about  you.  If  you 
find  better  for  the  money,  buy  them.  If  not,  come  to  me  ! ” 
Monsieur  Fran 90 is  goes  his  way  leisurely,  and  keeps  a wary  eye 
upon  the  stock.  Ho  other  butcher  jostles  Monsieur  Fran9ois ; 
Monsieur  Fran9ois  jostles  no  other  butcher.  Hobody  is  flus- 
tered and  aggravated.  Hobody  is  savage.  In  the  midst  of 
the  country  blue  frocks  and  red  handkerchiefs,  and  the 
butchers’  coats,  shaggy,  furry,  and  hairy : of  calf-skin,  cow- 
skin,  horse-skin,  and  bear-skin : towers  a cocked  hat  and  a 
blue  coat.  Slavery ! For  our  Police  wear  great  coats  and 
glazed  hats. 

But  now  the  bartering  is  over,  and  the  calves  are  sold. 
“Ho!  Gregorie,  Antoine,  Jean,  Louis!  Bring  up  the  carts, 
my  children  ! Quick,  brave  infants  ! Hola  ! Hi ! ” 

The  carts,  well  littered  with  straw,  are  backed  up  to  the 
edge  of  the  raised  pavement,  and  various  hot  infants  carry 
calves  upon  their  heads,  and  dexterously  pitch  them  in,  while 
other  hot  infants,  standing  in  the  carts,  arrange  the  calves,  and 
pack  them  carefully  in  straw.  Here  is  a promising  young 
calf,  not  sold,  whom  Madame  Doche  unbinds.  Pardon  me, 
Madame  Doche,  but  I fear  this  mode  of  tying  the  fore  legs  of 
a quadruped  together,  though  strictly  a la  mode,  is  not  quite 
right.  You  observe,  Madame  Doche,  that  the  cord  leaves  deep 
indentations  in  the  skin,  and  that  the  animal  is  so  cramped  at 
first  as  not  to  know,  or  even  remotely  suspect,  that  he  is  un- 
bound, until  you  are  so  obliging  as  to  kick  him,  in  your  deli- 
cate little  way,  and  pull  his  tail  like  a bell-rope.  Then,  he 
staggers  to  his  knees,  not  being  able  to  stand,  and  stumbles 
about  like  a drunken  calf,  or  the  horse  at  Franconi’s,  whom 
you  may  have  seen,  Madame  Doche,  who  is  supposed  to  have 
been  mortally  wounded  in  battle.  But,  what  is  this  rubbing 
against  me,  as  I apostrophize  Madame  Doche  ? It  is  another 
heated  infant  with  a calf  upon  his  head.  “ Pardon,  Monsieur, 
but  will  you  have  the  politeness  to  allow  me  to  pass  ? ” “ Ah, 

Sir,  willingly.  I am  vexed  to  obstruct  the  way.”  On  he  stag- 


442 


A MONUMENT  OF  FBENCH  FOLLY . 


gers,  calf  and  all,  and  makes  no  allusion  whatever  either  to  my 
eyes  or  limbs. 

Now,  the  carts  are  all  full.  More  straw,  my  Antoine,  to 
shake  over  these  top  rows ; then,  off  we  will  clatter,  rumble, 
jolt,  and  rattle,  a long  row  of  us,  out  of  the  first  town-gate, 
and  out  at  the  second  town-gate,  and  past  the  empty  sentry- 
box,  and  the  little  thin  square  bandbox  of  a guardhouse,  where 
nobody  seems  to  live  ; and  away  for  Paris,  by  the  paved 
road,  lying,  a straight  straight  line,  in  the  long  long  avenue  of 
trees.  We  can  neither  choose  our  road,  nor  our  pace,  for  that 
is  all  prescribed  to  us.  The  public  convenience  demands  that 
our  carts  should  get  to  Paris  by  such  a route,  and  no  other 
(Napoleon  had  leisure  to  find  that  out,  while  he  had  a little 
war  with  the  world  upon  his  hands),  and  woe  betide  us  if  we 
infringe  orders. 

Droves  of  oxen  stand  in  the  Cattle  Market,  tied  to  iron  bars 
fixed  into  posts  of  granite.  Other  droves  advance  slowly 
down  the  long  avenue,  past  the  second  town-gate,  and  the  first 
town-gate,  and  the  sentry-box,  and  the  bandbox,  thawing  the 
morning  with  their  smoky  breath  as  they  come  along. 
Plenty  of  room;  plenty  of  time.  Neither  man  nor  beast  is 
driven  out  of  his  wits  by  coaches,  carts,  wagons,  omnibuses, 
gigs,  chaises,  phaetons,  cabs,  trucks,  boys,  whoopings,  roar- 
ings, and  multitudes.  No  tail-twisting  is  necessary  — no  iron 
pronging  is  necessary.  There  are  no  iron  prongs  here.  The 
market  for  cattle  is  held  as  quietly  as  the  market  for  calves. 
In  due  time,  off  the  cattle  go  to  Paris ; the  drovers  can  no 
more  choose  their  road,  nor  their  time,  nor  the  numbers  they 
shall  drive,  than  they  can  choose  their  hour  for  dying  in  the 
course  of  nature. 

Sheep  next.  The  Sheep-pens  are  up  here,  past  the  Branch 
Bank  of  Paris  established  for  the  convenience  of  the  butchers, 
and  behind  the  two  pretty  fountains  they  are  making  in  the 
Market.  My  name  is  Bull : yet  I think  I should  like  to  see 
as  good  twin  fountains  — not  to  say  in  Smithfield,  but  in 
England  anywhere.  Plenty  of  room;  plenty  of  time.  And 
here  are  sheep-dogs,  sensible  as  ever,  but  with  a certain  Erench 
air  about  them  — not  without  a suspicion  of  dominoes  — with 
a kind  of  flavor  of  moustache  and  beard  — demonstrative  dogs, 


A MONUMENT  OF  FLENCH  FOLLY. 


443 


shaggy  and  loose  where  an  English  dog  would  be  tight  and 
close  — not  so  troubled  writh  business  calculations  as  our  Eng- 
lish drovers*  dogs,  who  have  always  got  their  sheep  upon  their 
minds,  and  think  about  their  work,  even  resting,  as  you  may 
see  by  their  faces ; but,  dashing,  showy,  rather  unreliable 
dogs : who  might  worry  me  instead  of  their  legitimate  charges 
if  they  saw  occasion  — and  might  see  it  somewhat  suddenly. 
The  market  for  sheep  passes  off  like  the  other  two ; and  away 
they  go,  by  their  allotted  road  to  Paris.  My  way  being  the 
Kailway,  I make  the  best  of  it  at  twenty  miles  an  hour; 
whirling  through  the  now  high-lighted  landscape;  thinking 
that  the  inexperienced  green  buds  will  be  wishing  before  long, 
they  had  not  been  tempted  to  come  out  so  soon ; and  wonder- 
ing who  lives  in  this  or  that  chateau,  all  window  and  lattice, 
and  what  the  family  may  have  for  breakfast  this  sharp 
morning. 

After  the  Market  comes  the  Abattoir.  What  abattoir  shall 
I visit  first  ? Montmartre  is  the  largest.  So,  I will  go  there. 

The  abattoirs  are  all  within  the  walls  of  Paris,  with  an  eye 
to  the  receipt  of  the  octroi  duty;  but,  they  stand  in  open 
places  in  the  suburbs,  removed  from  the  press  and  bustle  of 
the  city.  They  are  managed  by  the  Syndicat  or  Guild  of 
Butchers,  under  the  inspection  of  the  Police.  Certain  smaller 
items  of  the  revenue  derived  from  them  are  in  part  retained 
by  the  Guild  for  the  payment  of  their  expenses,  and  in  part 
devoted  by  it  to  charitable  purposes  in  connection  with  the 
trade.  They  cost  six  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  pounds ; 
and  they  return  to  the  city  of  Paris  an  interest  on  that  outlay, 
amounting  to  nearly  six  and  a half  per  cent. 

Here,  in  a sufficiently  dismantled  space,  is  the  Abattoir  of 
Montmartre,  covering  nearly  nine  acres  of  ground,  surrounded 
by  a high  wall,  and  looking  from  the  outside  like  a cavalry 
barrack.  At  the  iron  gates  is  a small  functionary  in  a large 
cocked  hat.  “ Monsieur  desires  to  see  the  abattoir  ? Most 
certainly.**  State  being  inconvenient  in  private  transactions, 
and  Monsieur  being  already  aware  of  the  cocked  hat,  the 
functionary  puts  it  into  a little  official  bureau  which  it  almost 
fills,  and  accompanies  me  in  the  modest  attire  — as  to  his 
head  — of  ordinary  life. 


444 


A MONUMENT  OF  FBENCH  FOLLY . 


Many  of  the  animals  from  Poissy  have  come  here.  On  the 
arrival  of  each  drove,  it  was  turned  into  yonder  ample  space, 
where  each  butcher  who  had  bought,  selected  his  own  pur- 
chases. Some,  we  see  now,  in  these  long  perspectives  of  stalls 
with  a high  overhanging  roof  of  wood  and  open  tiles  rising 
above  the  walls.  Vfhile  they  rest  here,  before  being  slaugh- 
tered, they  are  required  to  be  fed  and  watered,  and  the  stalls 
must  be  kept  clean.  A stated  amount  of  fodder  must  always 
be  ready  in  the  loft  above ; and  the  supervision  is  of  the 
strictest  kind.  The  same  regulations  apply  to  sheep  and 
calves ; for  which,  portions  of  these  perspectives  are  strongly 
railed  off.  All  the  buildings  are  of  the  strongest  and  most 
solid  description. 

After  traversing  these  lairs,  through  which,  besides  the 
upper  provision  for  ventilation  just  mentioned,  there  may  be  a 
thorough  current  of  air  from  opposite  windows  in  the  side 
walls,  and  from  doors  at  either  end,  we  traverse  the  broad, 
paved,  court-yard  until  we  come  to  the  slaughter-houses. 
They  are  all  exactly  alike,  and  adjoin  each  other,  to  the  num- 
ber of  eight  or  nine  together,  in  blocks  of  solid  building.  Let 
us  walk  into  the  first. 

It  is  firmly  built  and  paved  with  stone.  It  is  well  lighted, 
thoroughly  aired,  and  lavishly  provided  with  fresh  water.  It 
has  two  doors  opposite  each  other ; the  first,  the  door  by  which 
I entered  from  the  main  yard ; the  second,  which  is  opposite, 
opening  on  another  smaller  yard,  where  the  sheep  and  calves 
are  killed  on  benches.  The  pavement  of  that  yard,  I see,  slopes 
downward  to  a gutter,  for  its  being  more  easily  cleansed.  The 
slaughter-house  is  fifteen  feet  high,  sixteen  feet  and  a half  wide, 
and  thirty-three  feet  long.  It  is  fitted  with  a powerful  wind- 
lass, by  which  one  man  at  the  handle  can  bring  the  head  of  an 
ox  down  to  the  ground  to  receive  the  blow  from  the  pole-axe 
that  is  to  fell  him  — with  the  means  of  raising  the  carcass  and 
keeping  it  suspended  during  the  after-operation  of  dressing  — 
and  with  hooks  on  which  carcasses  can  hang,  when  completely 
prepared,  without  touching  the  walls.  Upon  the  pavement  of 
this  first  stone  chamber,  lies  an  ox  scarcely  dead.  If  I except 
the  blood  draining  from  him,  into  a little  stone  well  in  a cor- 
ner of  the  pavement,  the  place  is  free  from  offence  as  the  Place 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY. 


445 


de  la  Concorde.  It  is  infinitely  purer  and  cleaner,  I know,  my 
friend  the  functionary,  than  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame. 
Ha,  ha ! Monsieur  is  pleasant,  but,  truly,  there  is  reason,  too, 
in  what  he  says. 

I look  into  another  of  these  slaughter-houses.  “Pray  enter,” 
says  a gentleman  in  bloody  boots.  “ This  is  a calf  I have  killed 
this  morning.  Having  a little  time  upon  my  hands,  I have  cut 
and  punctured  this  lace  pattern  in  the  coats  of  his  stomach. 
It  is  pretty  enough.  I did  it  to  divert  myself.”  — “It  is  beau- 
tiful, Monsieur,  the  slaughterer ! ” He  tells  me  I have  the 
gentility  to  say  so. 

I look  into  rows  of  slaughter-houses.  In  many,  retail  deal- 
ers, who  have  come  here  for  the  purpose,  are  making  bargains 
for  meat.  There  is  killing  enough,  certainly,  to  satiate  an 
unused  eye ; and  there  are  steaming  carcasses  enough,  to  sug- 
gest the  expediency  of  a fowl  and  salad  for  dinner ; but,  every- 
where, there  is  an  orderly,  clean,  well-systematized  routine  of 
work  in  progress  — horrible  work  at  the  best,  if  you  please ; 
but,  so  much  the  greater  reason  why  it  should  be  made  the  best 
of.  I don’t  know  (I  think  I have  observed,  my  name  is  Bull) 
that  a Parisian  of  the  lowest  order  is  particularly  delicate,  or 
that  his  nature  is  remarkable  for  an  infinitesimal  infusion  of 
ferocity ; but,  I do  know,  my  potent,  grave,  and  common  coun- 
selling Signors,  that  he  is  forced,  when  at  this  work,  to  submit 
himself  to  a thoroughly  good  system,  and  to  make  an  English- 
man very  heartily  ashamed  of  you. 

Here,  within  the  walls  of  the  same  abattoir,  in  other  roomy 
> and  commodious  buildings,  are  a place  for  converting  the  fat 
into  tallow  and  packing  it  for  market  — a place  for  cleansing 
and  scalding  calves’  heads  and  sheep’s  feet  — a place  for  pre- 
paring tripe  — stables  and  coach-houses  for  the  butchers  — 
innumerable  conveniences,  aiding  in  the  diminution  of  offen- 
siveness to  its  lowest  possible  point,  and  the  raising  of  cleanli- 
ness and  supervision  to  their  highest.  Hence,  all  the  meat 
that  goes  out  of  the  gate  is  sent  away  in  clean  covered  carts. 
And  if  every  trade  connected  with  the  slaughtering  of  animals 
were  obliged  by  law  to  be  carried  on  in  the  same  place,  I doubt, 
my  friend,  now  reinstated  in  the  cocked  hat  (whose  civility 
these  two  francs  imperfectly  acknowledge,  but  appear  munifi- 


446 


A MONUMENT  OF  FRENCH  FOLLY. 


cently  to  repay),  whether  there  could  be  better  regulations 
than  those  which  are  carried  out  at  the  Abattoir  of  Montmartre. 
Adieu,  my  friend,  for  I am  away  to  the  other  side  of  Paris,  to 
the  Abattoir  of  Grenelle  ! And  therg*,  I find  exactly  the  same 
thing  on  a smaller  scale,  with  the  addition  of  a magnificent 
Artesian  well,  and  a different  sort  of  conductor,  in  the  person 
of  a neat  little  woman  with  neat  little  eyes,  and  a neat  little 
voice,  who  picks  her  neat  little  way  among  the  bullocks  in  a 
very  neat  little  pair  of  shoes  and  stockings. 

Such  is  the  Monument  of  French  Folly  which  a foreigneering 
people  have  erected,  in  a national  hatred  and  antipathy  for 
common  counselling  wisdom.  That  wisdom,  assembled  in  the 
City  of  London,  having  distinctly  refused,  after  a debate  three 
days  long,  and  by  a majority  of  nearly  seven  to  one,  to  associate 
itself  with  any  Metropolitan  Cattle-Market  unless  it  be  held  in 
the  midst  of  the  City,  it  follows  that  we  shall  lose  the  ines- 
timable advantages  of  common  counselling  protection,  and  be 
thrown,  for  a market,  on  our  own  wretched  resources.  In  all 
human  probability  we  shall  thus  come,  at  last,  to  erect  a monu- 
ment of  folly  very  like  this  French  monument.  If  that  be 
done,  the  consequences  are  obvious.  The  leather  trade  will  be 
ruined,  by  the  introduction  of  American  timber,  to  be  manu- 
factured into  shoes  for  the  fallen  English  3 the  Lord  Mayor 
will  be  required,  by  the  popular  voice,  to  live  entirely  on 
frogs;  and  both  these  changes  will  (how,  is  not  at  present 
quite  clear,  but  certainly  somehow  or  other)  fall  on  that  un- 
happy landed  interest  which  is  always  being  killed,  yet  is 
always  found  to  be  alive  — and  kicking. 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


I have  been  looking  on,  this  evening,  at  a merry  company 
of  children  assembled  round  that  pretty  German  toy,  a 
Christmas  Tree.  The  tree  was  planted  in  the  middle  of  a 
great  round  table,  and  towered  high  above  their  heads.  It 
was  brilliantly  lighted  by  a multitude  of  little  tapers  ; and 
everywhere  sparkled  and  glittered  with  bright  objects.  There 
were  rosy-cheeked  dolls,  hiding  behind  the  green  leaves ; there 
were  real  watches  (with  movable  hands,  at  least,  and  an  end- 
less capacity  of  being  wound  up)  dangling  from  innumerable 
twigs  ; there  were  French-polished  tables,  chairs,  bedsteads, 
wardrobes,  eight-day  clocks,  and  various  other  articles  of 
domestic  furniture  (wonderfully  made,  in  tin,  at  Wolver- 
hampton), perched  among  the  boughs,  as  if  in  preparation  for 
some  fairy  housekeeping ; there  were  jolly,  broad-faced  little 
men,  much  more  agreeable  in  appearance  than  many  real 
men  — and  no  wonder,  for  their  heads  took  off,  and  showed 
them  to  be  full  of  sugar-plums ; there  were  fiddles  and  drums ; 
there  were  tambourines,  books,  work-boxes,  paint-boxes, 
sweetmeat-boxes,  peep-show  boxes,  all  kinds  of  boxes  ; there 
were  trinkets  for  the  elder  girls,  far  brighter  than  any  grown-up 
gold  and  jewels ; there  were  baskets  and  pincushions  in  all 
devices ; there  were  guns,  swords,  and  banners ; there  were 
witches  standing  in  enchanted  rings  of  pasteboard,  to  tell 
fortunes ; there  were  teetotums,  humming-tops,  needle-cases, 
pen-wipers,  smelling-bottles,  conversation-cards,  bouquet- 
holders  ; real  fruit,  made  artificially  dazzling  with  gold  leaf ; 
imitation  apples,  pears,  and  walnuts,  crammed  with  surprises ; 
in  short  as  a pretty  child,  before  me,  delightedly  whispered  to 
another  pretty  child,  her  bosom  friend,  “There  was  every- 
thing, and  more.”  This  motley  collection  of  odd  objects 
clustering  on  the  tree  like  magic  fruit,  and  flashing  back 

447 


448 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


the  bright  looks  directed  towards  it  from  every  side  — some 
of  the  diamond-eyes  admiring  it  were  hardly  on  a level  with 
the  table,  and  a few  were  languishing  in  timid  wonder  on  the 
bosoms  of  pretty  mothers,  aunts,  and  nurses  — made  a lively 
realization  of  the  fancies  of  childhood;  and  set  me  thinking 
how  all  the  trees  that  grow  and  all  the  things  that  come  into 
existence  on  the  earth,  have  their  wild  adornments  at  that 
well-remembered  time. 

Being  now  at  home  again,  and  alone,  the  only  person  in  the 
house  awake,  my  thoughts  are  drawn  back,  by  a fascination 
which  I do  not  care  to  resist,  to  my  own  childhood.  I begin 
to  consider,  what  do  we  all  remember  best  upon  the  branches 
of  the  Christmas  Tree  of  our  own  young  Christmas  days,  by 
which  we  climbed  to  real  life. 

Straight,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  cramped  in  the  freedom 
of  its  growth  by  no  encircling  walls  or  soon-reached  ceiling,  a 
shadowy  tree  arises ; and,  looking  up  into  the  dreamy  bright- 
ness of  its  top  — for  I observe,  in  this  tree  the  singular  prop- 
erty that  it  appears  to  grow  downward  towards  the  earth  — I 
look  into  my  youngest  Christmas  recollections  ! 

All  toys  at  first,  I find.  Up  yonder,  among  the  green  holly 
and  red  berries,  is  the  Tumbler  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
who  wouldn’t  lie  down,  but  whenever  he  was  put  upon  the 
floor,  persisted  in  rolling  his  fat  body  about,  until  he  rolled 
himself  still,  and  brought  those  lobster  eyes  of  his  to  bear 
upon  me — when  I affected  to  laugh  very  much,  but  in  my 
heart  of  hearts  was  extremely  doubtful  of  him.  Close  beside 
him  is  that  infernal  snuff-box,  out  of  which  there  sprang  a 
demoniacal  Counsellor  in  a black  gown,  with  an  obnoxious 
head  of  hair,  and  a red  cloth  mouth,  wide  open,  who  was  not 
to  be  endured  on  any  terms,  but  could  not  be  put  away  either ; 
for  he  used  suddenly,  in  a highly  magnified  state,  to  fly  out  of 
Mammoth  Snuff-boxes  in  dreams,  when  least  expected.  Nor 
is  the  frog  with  cobbler’s  wax  on  his  tail,  far  off ; for  there 
was  no  knowing  where  he  wouldn’t  jump ; and  when  he  flew 
over  the  candle,  and  came  upon  one’s  hand  with  that  spotted 
back  — red  on  a green  ground  — he  was  horrible.  The  card- 
board lady  in  a blue-silk  skirt,  who  was  stood  up  against  the 
candlestick  to  dance,  and  whom  I see  on  the  same  branch,  was 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE . 


449 


milder,  and  was  beautiful;  but  I can’t  say  as  much  for  the 
larger  card-board  man,  who  used  to  be  hung  against  the  wall 
and  pulled  by  a string ; there  was  a sinister  expression  in  that 
nose  of  his;  and  when  he  got  his  legs  round  his  neck  (which 
he  very  often  did),  he  was  ghastly,  and  not  a creature  to  be 
alone  with. 

When  did  that  dreadful  Mask  first  look  at  me  ? Who  put 
it  on,  and  why  was  I so  frightened  that  the  sight  of  it  is  an 
era  in  my  life  ? It  is  not  a hideous  visage  in  itself ; it  is  even 
meant  to  be  droll ; why  then  were  its  stolid  features  so  intol- 
erable ? Surely  not  because  it  hid  the  wearer’s  face.  An 
apron  would  have  done  as  much ; and  though  I should  have 
preferred  even  the  apron  away,  it  would  not  have  been  abso- 
lutely insupportable,  like  the  mask  ? Was  it  the  immovability 
of  the  mask  ? The  doll’s  face  was  immovable,  but  I was  not 
afraid  of  her.  Perhaps  that  fixed  and  set  change  coming  over 
a real  face,  infused  into  my  quickened  heart  some  remote 
suggestion  and  dread  of  the  universal  change  that  is  to  come 
on  every  face,  and  make  it  still  ? Nothing  reconciled  me  to  it. 
No  drummers,  from  whom  proceeded  a melancholy  chirping 
on  the  turning  of  a handle;  no  regiment  of  soldiers,  with  a 
mute  band,  taken  out  of  a box,  and  fitted,  one  by  one,  upon  a 
stiff  and  lazy  little  set  of  lazy-tongs ; no  old  woman,  made  of 
wires  and  a brown-paper  composition,  cutting  up  a pie  for  two 
small  children ; could  give  me  a permanent  comfort,  for  a long 
time.  Nor  was  it  any  satisfaction  to  be  shown  the  Mask,  and 
see  that  it  was  made  of  paper,  or  to  have  it  locked  up  and  be 
assured  that  no  one  wore  it.  The  mere  recollection  of  that 
fixed  face,  the  mere  knowledge  of  its  existence  anywhere,  was 
sufficient  to  awaken  me  in  the  night  all  perspiration  and  hor- 
ror, with,  “ 0 I know  it’s  coming ! 0 the  mask  ! ” 

I never  wondered  what  the  dear  old  donkey  with  the  pan- 
niers — there  he  is  ! — was  made  of,  then  ! His  hide  was  real 
to  the  touch,  I recollect.  And  the  great  black  horse  with 
round  red  spots  all  over  him  — the  horse  that  I could  even  get 
upon  — I never  wondered  what  had  brought  him  to  that 
strange  condition,  or  thought  that  such  a horse  was  not  com- 
monly seen  at  Newmarket.  The  four  horses  of  no  color,  next 
to  him,  that  went  into  the  wagon  of  cheeses,  and  could  be 
vol.  ii — 29 


450 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE . 


taken  out  and  stabled  under  the  piano/  appear  to  have  bits  of 
fur-tippet  for  their  tails,  and  other  bits  for  their  manes,  and 
to  stand  on  pegs  instead  of  legs,  but  it  was  not  so  when  they 
were  brought  home  for  a Christmas  present.  They  were  all 
right,  then ; neither  was  their  harness  unceremoniously  nailed 
into  their  chests,  as  appears  to  be  the  case  now.  The  tink- 
ling works  of  the  music-cart,  I did  find  out,  to  be  made  of 
quill  tooth-picks  and  wire ; and  I always  thought  that  little 
tumbler  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  perpetually  swarming  up  one  side 
of  a wooden  frame,  and  coming  down,  headforemost,  on  the 
other,  rather  a weak-minded  person  — though  good-natured; 
but  the  Jacob’s  Ladder,  next  him,  made  of  little  squares  of  red 
wood,  that  went  flapping  and  clattering  over  one  another,  each 
developing  a different  picture,  and  the  whole  enlivened  by 
small  bells,  was  a mighty  marvel  and  a great  delight. 

Ah ! The  Doll’s  house ! — of  which  I was  not  proprietor, 
but  where  I visited.  I don’t  admire  the  Houses  of  Parliament 
half  so  much  as  that  stone-fronted  mansion  with  real  glass 
windows,  and  door-steps  and  a real  balcony  — greener  than  I 
ever  see  now,  except  at  watering-places ; and  even  they  afford 
but  a poor  imitation.  And  though  it  did  open  all  at  once,  the 
entire  house-front  (which  was  a blow,  I admit,  as  cancelling 
the  fiction  of  a staircase),  it  was  but  to  shut  it  up  again,  and 
I could  believe.  Even  open,  there  were  three  distinct  rooms 
in  it : a sitting-room  and  bedroom,  elegantly  furnished,  and, 
best  of  all,  a kitchen,  with  uncommonly  soft  fire-irons,  a plen- 
tiful assortment  of  diminutive  utensils  — oh,  the  warming-pan  • 
— and  a tin  man-cook  in  profile,  who  was  always  going  to  fry 
two  fish.  What  Barmecide  justice  have  I done  to  the  noble 
feasts  wherein  the  set  of  wooden  platters  figured,  each  with  its 
own  peculiar  delicacy,  as  a ham  or  turkey,  glued  tight  on  to  it, 
and  garnished  with  something  green,  which  I recollect  as  moss ! 
Could  all  the  Temperance  Societies  of  these  later  days,  united, 
give  me  such  a tea-drinking  as  I have  had  through  the  means 
of  yonder  little  set  of  blue  crockery,  which  really  would  hold 
liquid  (it  ran  out  of  the  small  wooden  cask,  I recollect,  and 
tasted  of  matches),  and  which  made  tea,  nectar  ? And  if  the 
two  legs  of  the  ineffectual  little  sugar-tongs  did  tumble  over 
one  another,  and  want  purpose,  like  Punch’s  hands,  what  does 


A CTIBISTMA S TREE. 


451 


it  matter  ? And  if  I did  once  shriek  out,  as  a poisoned  child, 
and  strike  the  fashionable  company  with  consternation,  by 
reason  of  having  drunk  a little  teaspoon,  inadvertently  dis- 
solved in  too  hot  tea,  I was  never  the  worse  for  it,  except  by 
a powder ! 

Upon  the  next  branches  of  the  tree,  lower  down,  hard  by 
the  green  roller  and  miniature  gardening-tools,  how  thick  the 
books  begin  to  hang.  Thin  books,  in  themselves,  at  first,  but 
many  of  them,  and  with  deliciously  smooth  covers  of  bright 
red  or  green.  What  fat  black  letters  to  begin  with  ! “ A was 

an  archer,  and  shot  at  a frog.”  Of  course  he  was.  He  was 
an  apple-pie  also,  and  there  he'  is  ! He  was  a good  many 
things  in  his  time,  was  A,  and  so  were  most  of  his  friends, 
except  X,  who  had  so  little  versatility,  that  I never  knew  him 
to  get  beyond  Xerxes  or  Xantippe  — like  Y,  who  was  always 
confined  to  a Yacht  or  a Yew  Tree  ; and  Z condemned  forever 
to  be  a Zebra  or  a Zany.  But,  now,  the  very  tree  itself 
changes,  and  becomes  a bean-stalk  — the  marvellous  bean-stalk 
up  which  Jack  climbed  to  the  Giant’s  house  ! And  now,  those 
dreadfully  interesting,  double-headed  giants,  with  their  clubs 
over  their  shoulders,  begin  to  stride  along  the  boughs  in  a per- 
fect throng,  dragging  knights  and  ladies  home  for  dinner  by 
the  hair  of  their  heads.  And  Jack  — how  noble,  with  his 
sword  of  sharpness,  and  his  shoes  of  swiftness  ! Again  those 
old  meditations  come  upon  me  as  I gaze  up  at  him ; and  I de- 
bate within  myself  whether  there  was  more  than  one  Jack 
(which  I am  loth  to  believe  possible),  or  only  one  genuine 
original  admirable  Jack,  who  achieved  all  the  recorded  exploits. 

Good  for  Christmas  time  is  the  ruddy  color  of  the  cloak,  in 
which  — the  tree  making  a forest  of  itself  for  her  to  trip 
through,  with  her  basket  — little  Bed  Biding-Hood  comes  to 
me  one  Christmas  Eve  to  give  me  information  of  the  cruelty 
and  treachery  of  that  dissembling  wolf  who  ate  her  grand' 
mother,  without  making  any  impression  on  his  appetite,  and 
then  ate  her,  after  making  that  ferocious  joke  about  his  teeth. 
She  was  my  first  love.  I felt  that  if  I could  have  married 
Little  Bed  Biding-Hood,  I should  have  known  perfect  bliss. 
But,  it  was  not  to  be  ; and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  look 
out  the  Wolf  in  the  Xoah’s  Ark  there,  and  put  him  late  in  the. 


452 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE . 


procession  on  the  table,  as  a monster  who  was  to  be  degraded. 
0 the  wonderful  Noah’s  Ark ! It  was  not  found  seaworthy 
when  put  in  a washiilg-tub,  and  the  animals  were  crammed  in 
at  the  roof,  and  needed  to  have  their  legs  well  shaken  down 
before  they  could  be  got  in,  even  there  — and  then,  ten  to  one 
but  they  began  to  tumble  out  at  the  door,  which  was  but 
imperfectly  fastened  with  a wire  latch — but  what  was  that 
against  it ! Consider  the  noble  fly,  a size  or  two  smaller  than 
the  elephant : the  lady-bird,  the  butterfly  — all  triumphs  of 
art ! Consider  the  goose,  whose  feet  were  so  small,  and  whose 
balance  was  so  indifferent,  that  he  usually  tumbled  forward, 
and  knocked  down  all  the  animal  creation.  Consider  Noah 
and  his  family,  like  idiotic  tobacco-stoppers;  and  how  the 
leopard  stuck  to  warm  little  fingers  ; and  how  the  tails  of  the 
larger  animals  used  gradually  to  resolve  themselves  into  frayed 
bits  of  string ! 

Hush ! Again  a forest,  and  somebody  up  in  a tree  — not 
Robin  Hood,  not  Valentine,  not  the  Yellow  Dwarf  (I  have 
passed  him  and  all  Mother  Bunch’s  wonders,  without  men- 
tion), but  an  Eastern  King  with  a glittering  scimitar  and  tur- 
ban. By  Allah  ! two  Eastern  Kings,  for  I see  another,  looking 
over  his  shoulder!  Down  upon  the  grass,  at  the  tree’s  foot, 
lies  the  full  length  of  a coal-black  Giant,  stretched  asleep, 
with  his  head  in  a lady’s  lap ; and  near  them  is  a glass  box, 
fastened  with  four  locks  of  shining  steel,  in  which  he  keeps 
the  lady  prisoner  when  he  is  awake.  I see  the  four  keys  at 
his  girdle  now.  The  lady  makes  signs  to  the  two  kings  in 
the  tree,  who  softly  descend.  It  is  the  setting-in  of  the  bright 
Arabian  Nights. 

Oh,  now  all  common  things  become  uncommon  and  en- 
chanted to  me  ! All  lamps  are  wonderful ; all  rings  are  talis- 
mans. Common  flower-pots  are  full  of  treasure,  with  a little 
earth  scattered  on  the  top ; trees  are  for  Ali  Baba  to  hide  in ; 
beef-steaks  are  to  throw  down  into  the  Valley  of  Diamonds, 
that  the  precious  stones  may  stick  to  them,  and  be  carried  by 
the  eagles  to  their  nests,  whence  the  traders,  with  loud  cries, 
will  scare  them.  Tarts  are  made,  according  to  the  recipe  of 
the  Vizier’s  son  of  Bussorah,  who  turned  pastrycook  after  he 
was  set  down  in  his  drawers  at  the  gate  of  Damascus ; cob- 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


453 


biers  are  all  Mustaphas,  and  in  the  habit  of  sewing  up  people 
cut  into  four  pieces,  to  whom  they  are  taken  blindfold. 

Any  iron  ring  let  into  stone  is  the  entrance  to  a cave  which 
only  waits  for  the  magician,  and  the  little  fire,  and  the  necro- 
mancy, that  will  make  the  earth  shake.  All  the  dates  im- 
ported come  from  the  same  tree  as  that  unlucky  date,  with 
whose  shell  the  merchant  knocked  out  the  eye  of  the  genie’s 
invisible  son.  All  olives  are  of  the  stock  of  that  fresh  fruit, 
concerning  which  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  overheard 
the  boy  conduct  the  fictitious  trial  of  the  fraudulent  olive 
merchant ; all  apples  are  akin  to  the  apple  purchased  (with 
two  others)  from  the  Sultan’s  gardener  for  three  sequins,  and 
which  the  tall  black  slave  stole  from  the  child.  All  dogs  are 
associated  with  the  dog,  really  a transformed  man,  who 
jumped  upon  the  baker’s  counter,  and  put  his  paw  on  the 
piece  of  bad  money.  All  rice  recalls  the  rice  which  the  awful 
lady,  who  was  a ghoul,  could  only  peck  by  grains,  because  of 
her  nightly  feasts  in  the  burial-place.  My  very  rocking-horse 
— there  he  is,  with  his  nostrils  turned  completely  inside-out, 
indicative  of  Blood ! — should  have  a peg  in  his  neck,  by  vir- 
tue thereof  to  fly  away  with  me,  as  the  wooden  horse  did  with 
the  Prince  of  Persia,  in  the  sight  of  all  his  father’s  Court. 

Yes,  on  every  object  that  I recognize  among  those  upper 
branches  of  my  Christmas  Tree,  I see  this  fairy  light ! When 
I wake  in  bed,  at  daybreak,  on  the  cold  dark  winter  mornings, 
the  white  snow  dimly  beheld,  outside,  through  the  frost  on  the 
window-pane,  I hear  Dinarzade.  “ Sister,  sister,  if  you  are  yet 
awake,  I pray  you  finish  the  history  of  the  Young  King  of  the 
Black  Islands.”  Scheherazade  replies,  u If  my  lord  the  Sultan 
will  suffer  me  to  live  another  day,  sister,  I will  not  only  finish 
that,  but  tell  you  a more  wonderful  story  yet.”  Then,  the 
gracious  Sultan  goes  out,  giving  no  orders  for  the  execution, 
and  we  all  three  breathe  again. 

At  this  height  of  my  tree  I begin  to  see,  cowering  among 
the  leaves  — it  may  be  born  of  turkey,  or  of  pudding,  or  mince 
pie,  or  of  these  many  fancies,  jumbled  with  Bobinson  Crusoe 
on  his  desert  island,  Philip  Quarll  among  the  monkeys,  Sand- 
ford  and  Merton  with  Mr.  Barlow,  Mother  Bunch,  and  the 
Mask  — or  it  may  be  the  result  of  indigestion,  assisted  by 


454 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE . 


imagination  and  over-doctoring  — a prodigious  nightmare.  It 
is  so  exceedingly  indistinct,  that  I don’t  know  why  it’s  fright- 
ful — but  I know  it  is.  I can  only  make  out  that  it  is  an  im- 
mense array  of  shapeless  things,  which  appear  to  be  planted 
on  a vast  exaggeration  of  the  lazy  tongs  that  used  to  bear  the 
toy  soldiers,  and  to  be  slowly  coming  close  to  my  eyes,  and 
receding  to  an  immeasurable  distance.  When  it  comes  closest, 
it  is  worst.  In  connection  with  it  I descry  remembrances  of 
winter  nights  incredibly  long ; of  being  sent  early  to  bed,  as 
a punishment  for  some  small  offence,  and  waking  in  two 
hours,  with  a sensation  of  having  been  asleep  two  nights ; of 
the  laden  hopelessness  of  morning  ever  dawning ; and  the 
oppression  of  a weight  of  remorse. 

And  now,  I see  a wonderful  row  of  little  lights  rise  smoothly 
out  of  the  ground,  before  a vast  green  curtain.  Now,  a bell 
rings  — a magic  bell,  which  still  sounds  in  my  ears  unlike  all 
other  bells  — and  music  plays,  amidst  a buzz  of  voices,  and  a 
fragrant  smell  of  orange-peel  and  oil.  Anon,  the  magic  bell 
commands  the  music  to  cease,  and  the  great  green  curtain 
rolls  itself  up  majestically,  and  The  Play  begins  ! The  devoted 
dog  of  Montargis  avenges  the  death  of  his  master,  foully 
murdered  in  the  Porest  of  Bondy ; and  a humorous  Peasant 
with  a red  nose  and  a very  little  hat,  whom  I take  from  this 
hour  forth  to  my  bosom  as  a friend  (I  think  he  was  a Waiter 
or  an  Hostler  at  a village  Inn,  but  many  years  have  passed 
since  he  and  I have  met),  remarks  that  the  sassigassity  of  that 
dog  is  indeed  surprising;  and  evermore  this  jocular  conceit 
will  live  in  my  remembrance  fresh  and  unfading,  overtopping 
all  possible  jokes,  unto  the  end  of  time.  Or  now,  I learn 
with  bitter  tears  how  poor  Jane  Shore,  dressed  all  in  white, 
and  with  her  brown  hair  hanging  down,  went  starving 
through  the  streets ; or  how  George  Barnwell  killed  the 
worthiest  uncle  that  ever  man  had,  and  was  afterwards  so 
sorry  for  it  that  he  ought  to  have  been  let  off.  Comes  swift 
to  comfort  me,  the  Pantomime  — stupendous  Phenomenon  ! — 
when  Clowns,  are  shot  from  loaded  mortars  into  the  great 
chandelier,  bright  constellation  that  it  is  ; when  Harlequins, 
covered  all  over  with  scales  of  pure  gold,  twist  and  sparkle, 
like  amazing  fish ; when  Pantaloon  (whom  I deem  it  no 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


455 


irreverence  to  compare  in  my  own  mind  to  my  grandfather) 
puts  red-hot  pokers  in  his  pocket,  and  cries  “ Here’s  some- 
body coming  ! ” or  taxes  the  Clown  with  petty  larceny,  by 
saying  “Now,  I sawed  you  do  it  ! ” when  Everything  is 
capable,  with  the  greatest  ease,  of  being  changed  into  Any- 
thing ; and  “Nothing  is,  but  thinking  makes  it  so.”  Now, 
too,  I perceive  my  first  experience  of  the  dreary  sensation  — 
often  to  return  in  after-life  — of  being  unable,  next  day,  to  get 
back  to  the  dull,  settled  world  ; of  wanting  to  live  for  ever  in 
the  bright  atmosphere  I have  quitted ; of  doting  on  the  little 
Fairy,  with  the  wand  like  a celestial  Barber’s  Pole,  and  pining 
for  a Fairy  immortality  along  with  her.  Ah,  she  comes  back, 
in  many  shapes,  as  my  eye  wanders  down  the  branches  of  my 
Christmas  Tree,  and  goes  as  often,  and  has  never  yet  stayed 
by  me ! 

Out  of  this  delight  springs  the  toy-theatre,  — there  it  is, 
with  its  familiar  proscenium,  and  ladies  in  feathers,  in  the 
boxes  ! — and  all  its  attendant  occupation  with  paste  and  glue, 
and  gum,  and  water  colors,  in  the  getting-up  of  The  Miller 
and  his  Men,  and  Elizabeth,  or  the  Exile  of  Siberia.  In 
spite  of  a few  besetting  accidents  and  failures  (particularly  an 
unreasonable  disposition  in  the  respectable  Kelmar,  and  some 
others,  to  become  faint  in  the  legs,  and  double  up,  at  exciting 
points  of  the  drama),  a teeming  world  of  fancies  so  suggestive 
and  all-embracing,  that,  far  below  it  on  my  Christmas  Tree,  I 
see  dark,  dirty,  real  Theatres  in  the  day-time,  adorned  with 
these  associations  as  with  the  freshest  garlands  of  the  rarest 
flowers,  and  charming  me  yet. 

But  hark  ! The  Waits  are  playing,  and  they  break  my 
childish  sleep!  What  images  do  I associate  with  the  Christ- 
mas music  as  I see  them  set  forth  on  the  Christmas  Tree  ? 
Known  before  all  the  others,  keeping  far  apart  from  all  the 
others,  they  gather  round  my  little  bed.  An  angel,  speaking 
to  a group  of  shepherds  in  a field ; some  travellers,  with  eyes 
uplifted,  following  a star ; a baby  in  a manger ; a child  in  a 
spacious  temple,  talking  with  grave  men ; a solemn  figure, 
with  a mild  and  beautiful  face,  raising  a dead  girl  by  the 
hand;  again,  near  a city  gate,  calling  back  the  son  of  a 
widow,  on  his  bier,  to  life ; a crowd  of  people  looking  through 


456 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE . 


the  open  roof  of  a chamber  where  he  sits,  and  letting  down 
a sick  person  on  a bed,  with  ropes  ; the  same,  in  a tempest, 
walking  on  the  water  to  a ship ; again,  on  a sea-shore,  teach- 
ing a great  multitude  ; again,  with  a child  upon  his  knee,  and 
other  children  round ; again,  restoring  the  sight  to  the  blind, 
speech  to  the  dumb,  hearing  to  the  deaf,  health  to  the  sick, 
strength  to  the  lame,  knowledge  to  the  ignorant ; again,  dying 
upon  a Cross,  watched  by  armed  soldiers,  a thick  darkness 
coming  on,  the  earth  beginning  to  shake,  and  only  one  voice 
heard.  “ Forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do  ! ” 

Still,  on  the  lower  and  maturer  branches  of  the  Tree, 
Christmas  associations  cluster  thick.  School-books  shut  up ; 
Ovid  and  Virgil  silenced ; the  Eule  of  Three,  with  its  cool 
impertinent  inquiries,  long  disposed  of ; Terence  and  Plautus 
acted  no  more,  in  an  arena  of  huddled  desks  and  forms,  all 
chipped,  and  notched,  and  inked;  cricket-bats,  stumps,  and 
balls,  left  higher  up,  with  the  smell  of  trodden  grass  and  the 
softened  noise  of  shouts  in  the  evening  air ; the  Tree  is  still 
fresh,  still  gay.  If  I no  more  come  home  at  Christmas  time, 
there  will  be  girls  and  boys  (thank  Heaven !)  while  the  World 
lasts;  and  they  do!  Yonder  they  dance  and  play  upon  the 
branches  of  my  Tree,  God  bless  them,  merrily,  and  my  heart 
dances  and  plays  too  ! 

And  I do  come  home  at  Christmas.  We  all  do,  or  we  all 
should.  We  all  come  home,  or  ought  to  come  home,  for  a 
short  holiday  — the  longer,  the  better  — from  the  great  board- 
ing-school, where  we  are  for  ever  working  at  our  arithmetical 
slates,  to  take,  and  give  a rest.  As  to  going  a visiting,  where 
can  we  not  go,  if  we  will ; where  have  we  not  been,  when  we 
would  ; starting  our  fancy  from  our  Christmas  Tree  ! 

Away  into  the  winter  prospect.  There  are  many  such  upon 
the  tree ! On,  by  low-lying  misty  grounds,  through  fens  and 
fogs,  up  long  hills,  winding  dark  as  caverns  between  thick 
plantations,  almost  shutting  out  the  sparkling  stars;  so,  out 
on  broad  heights,  until  we  stop  at  last,  with  sudden  silence,  at 
an  avenue.  The  gate-bell  has  a deep,  half-awful  sound  in  the 
frosty  air ; the  gate  swings  open  on  its  hinges ; and,  as  we 
drive  up  to  a great  house,  the  glancing  lights  grow  larger  in 
the  windows,  and  the  opposing  rows  of  trees  seem  to  fall  sol- 


A CTIB I STM  AS  TREE. 


457 


emnly  back  on  either  side,  to  give  us  place.  At  intervals,  all 
day,  a frightened  hare  has  shot  across  this  whitened  turf ; or 
the  distant  clatter  of  a herd  of  deer  trampling  the  hard  frost, 
has,  for  the  minute,  crushed  the  silence  too.  Their  watchful 
eyes  beneath  the  fern  may  be  shining  now,  if  we  could  see 
them,  like  the  icy  dewdrops  on  the  leaves  ; but  they  are  still, 
and  all  is  still.  And  so,  the  lights  growing  larger,  and  the 
trees  falling  back  before  us,  and  closing  up  again  behind  us,  as 
if  to  forbid  retreat,  we  come  to  the  house. 

There  is  probably  a smell  of  roasted  chestnuts  and  other 
good  comfortable  things  all  the  time,  for  we  are  telling  Win- 
ter Stories  — Ghost  Stories,  or  more  shame  for  us  — round  the 
Christmas  fire ; and  we  have  never  stirred,  except  to  draw  a 
little  nearer  to  it.  But,  no  matter  for  that.  We  came  to  the 
house,  and  it  is  an  old  house,  full  of  great  chimneys  where 
wood  is  burnt  on  ancient  dogs  upon  the  hearth,  and  grim 
portraits  (some  of  them  with  grim  legends,  too)  lower  dis- 
trustfully from  the  oaken  panels  of  the  walls.  We  are  a 
middle-aged  nobleman,  and  we  make  a generous  supper  with 
our  host  and  hostess  and  their  guests  — it  being  Christmas- 
time, and  the  old  house  full  of  company  — and  then  we  go  to 
bed.  Our  room  is  a very  old  room.  It  is  hung  with  tapestr}^. 
We  don’t  like  the  portrait  of  a cavalier  in  green,  over  the  fire- 
place. There  are  great  black  beams  in  the  ceiling,  and  there 
is  a great  black  bedstead,  supported  at  the  foot  by  two  great 
black  figures,  who  seem  to  have  come  off  a couple  of  tombs  in 
the  old  baronial  church  in  the  park,  for  our  particular  accom- 
modation. But,  we  are  not  a superstitious  nobleman,  and  we 
don’t  mind.  Well!  we  dismiss  our  servant,  lock  the  door,  and 
sit  before  the  fire  in  our  dressing-gown,  musing  about  a great 
many  things.  At  length  we  go  to  bed.  Well ! we  can’t  sleep. 
We  toss  and  tumble,  and  can’t  sleep.  The  embers  on  the 
hearth  burn  fitfully  and  make  the  room  look  ghostly.  We 
can’t  help  peeping  out  over  the  counterpane,  at  the  two  black 
figures  and  the  cavalier  — that  wicked-looking  cavalier  — in 
green.  In  the  flickering  light,  they  seem  to  advance  and 
retire : which,  though  we  are  not  by  any  means  a superstitious 
nobleman,  is  not  agreeable.  Well!  we  get  nervous  — more  and 
more  nervous.  We  say  “ This  is  very  foolish,  but  we  can’t 


458 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


stand  this;  we’ll  pretend  to  be  ill,  and  knock  up  somebody.” 
Well!  we  are  just  going  to  do  it,  when  the  locked  door  opens, 
and  there  comes  in  a young  woman,  deadly  pale,  and  with  long 
fair  hair,  who  glides  to  the  fire,  and  sits  down  in  the  chair  we 
have  left  there,  wringing  her  hands.  Then,  we  notice  that  her 
clothes  are  wet.  Our  tongue  cleaves  to  the  roof  of  our  mouth, 
and  we  can’t  speak;  but,  we  observe  her  accurately.  Her 
clothes  are  wet ; her  long  hair  is  dabbled  with  moist  mud ; she 
is  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  two  hundred  years  ago ; and  she 
has  at  her  girdle  a bunch  of  rusty  keys.  Well ! there  she  sits, 
and  we  can’t  even  faint,  we  are  in  such  a state  about  it.  Pres- 
ently she  gets  up,  and  tries  all  the  locks  in  the  room  with  the 
rusty  keys,  which  won’t  fit  one  of  them ; then,  she  fixes  her 
eyes  on  the  portrait  of  the  cavalier  in  green,  and  says,  in  a low, 
terrible  voice,  “ The  stags  know  it ! ” After  that,  she  wrings 
her  hands  again,  passes  the  bedside,  and  goes  out  at  the  door. 
We  hurry  on  our  dressing-gown,  seize  our  pistols  (we  always 
travel  with  pistols),  and  are  following,  when  we  find  the  door 
locked.  We  turn  the  key,  look  out  into  the  dark  gallery ; no 
one  there.  We  wander  away,  and  try  to  find  our  servant. 
Can’t  be  done.  We  pace  the  gallery  till  daybreak;  then  re- 
turn to  our  deserted  room,  fall  asleep,  and  are  awakened  by 
our  servant  (nothing  ever  haunts  him)  and  the  shining  sun. 
Well!  we  make  a wretched  breakfast,  and  all  the  company  say 
we  look  queer.  After  breakfast,  we  go  over  the  house  with 
our  host,  and  then  we  take  him  to  the  portrait  of  the  cava- 
lier in  green,  and  then  it  all  comes  out.  He  was  false  to  a 
young  housekeeper  once  attached  to  that  family,  and  famous 
for  her  beauty,  who  drowned  herself  in  a pond,  and  whose 
body  was  discovered,  after  a long  time,  because  the  stags 
refused  to  drink  of  the  water.  Since  which,  it  has  been  whis- 
ered  that  she  traverses  the  house  at  midnight  (but  goes 
especially  to  that  room  where  the  cavalier  in  green  was  wont 
to  sleep),  trying  the  old  locks  with  the  rusty  keys.  Well! 
we  tell  our  host  of  what  we  have  seen,  and  a shade  comes  over 
his  features,  and  he  begs  it  may  be  hushed  up ; and  so  it  is. 
But,  it’s  all  true  ; and  we  said  so,  before  we  died  (we  are  dead 
now)  to  many  responsible  people. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  old  houses,  with  resounding  galleries, 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


459 


and  dismal  state-bed-chambers,  and  haunted  wings  shut  up  for 
many  years,  through  which  we  may  ramble,  with  an  agreeable 
creeping  up  our  back,  and  encounter  any  number  of  ghosts, 
but  (it  is  worthy  of  remark  perhaps)  reducible  to  a very  few 
general  types  and  classes ; for,  ghosts  have  little  originality, 
and  “ walk  ” in  a beaten  track.  Thus,  it  comes  to  pass,  that 
a certain  room  in  a certain  old  hall,  where  a certain  bad  lord, 
baronet,  knight,  or  gentleman,  shot  himself,  has  certain  planks 
in  the  floor  from  which  the  blood  will  not  be  taken  out.  You 
may  scrape  and  scrape,  as  the  present  owner  has  done,  or 
plane  and  plane,  as  his  father  did,  or  scrub  and  scrub,  as  his 
grandfather  did,  or  burn  and  burn  with  strong  acids,  as  his 
great-grandfather  did,  but,  there  the  blood  will  still  be  — no 
redder  and  no  paler  — no  more  and  no  less  — always  just  the 
same.  Thus,  in  such  • another  house  there  is  a haunted  door, 
that  never  will  keep  open ; or  another  door  that  never  will 
keep  shut ; or  a haunted  sound  of  a spinning-wheel,  or  a 
hammer,  or  a footstep,  or  a cry,  or  a sigh,  or  a horse’s  tramp, 
or  the  rattling  of  a chain.  Or  else,  there  is  a turret-clock, 
which,  at  the  midnight  hour,  strikes  thirteen  when  the  head 
of  the  family  is  going  to  die ; or  a shadowy,  immovable  black 
carriage  which  at  such  a time  is  always  seen  by  somebody, 
waiting  near  the  great  gates  in  the  stable-yard.  Or  thus,  it 
came  to  pass  how  Lady  Mary  went  to  pay  a visit  at  a large 
wild  house  in  the  Scottish  Highlands,  and,  being  fatigued  with 
her  long  journey,  retired  to  bed  early,  and  innocently  said, 
next  morning,  at  the  breakfast-table,  “How  odd,  to  have  so 
late  a party  last  night,  in  this  remote  place,  and  not  to  tell 
me  of  it,  before  I went  to  bed ! ” Then,  every  one  asked 
Lady  Mary  what  she  meant  ? Then,  Lady  Mary  replied, 
“ Why,  all  night  long,  the  carriages  were  driving  round  and 
round  the  terrace,  underneath  my  window  ! 99  Then,  the  owner 
of  the  house  turned  pale,  and  so  did  his  Lady,  and  Charles 
Macdoodle  of  Macdoodle  signed  to  Lady  Mary  to  say  no  more, 
and  every  one  was  silent.  After  breakfast,  Charles  Macdoodle 
told  Lady  Mary  that  it  was  a tradition  in  the  family  that 
those  rumbling  carriages  on  the  terrace  betokened  death. 
And  so  it  proved,  for,  two  months  afterwards,  the  Lady  of  the 
mansion  died.  And  Lady  Mary,  who  was  a Maid  of  Honor  at 


460 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE . 


Court,  often  told  this  story  to  the  old  Queen  Charlotte ; by 
this  token  that  the  old  King  always  said,  “ Eh,  eh  ? What, 
what  ? Ghosts,  ghosts  ? No  such  thing,  no  such  thing ! ” 
And  never  left  off  saying  so,  until  he  went  to  bed. 

Or,  a friend  of  somebody’s,  whom  most  of  us  know,  when 
he  was  a young  man  at  college,  had  a particular  friend,  with 
whom  he  made  the  compact  that,  if  it  were  possible  for  the 
Spirit  to  return  to  this  earth  after  its  separation  from  the 
body,  he  of  the  twain  who  first  died,  should  reappear  to  the 
other.  In  course  of  time,  this  compact  was  forgotten  by  our 
friend;  the  two  young  men  having  progressed  in  life,  and 
taken  diverging  paths  that  were  wide  assunder.  But,  one 
night,  many  years  afterwards,  our  friend  being  in  the  North 
of  England,  and  staying  for  the  night  in  an  inn,  on  the  York- 
shire Moors,  happened  to  look  out  of  bed ; and  there,  in  the 
moonlight,  leaning  on  a bureau  near  the  window,  steadfastly 
regarding  him,  saw  his  old  college  friend ! The  appearance 
being  solemnly  addressed,  replied,  in  a kind  of  whisper,  but 
very  audibly,  “Do  not  come  near  me.  I am  dead.  I am 
here  to  redeem  my  promise.  I come  from  another  world,  but 
may  not  disclose  its  secrets  ! ” Then,  the  whole  form  becom- 
ing paler,  melted,  as  it  were,  into  the  moonlight,  and  faded 
away. 

Or,  there  was  the  daughter  of  the  first  occupier  of  the 
picturesque  Elizabethan  house,  so  famous  in  our  neighborhood. 
You  have  heard  about  her  ? No  ! Why,  She  went  out  one 
summer  evening,  at  twilight,  when  she  was  a beautiful  girl, 
just  seventeen  years  of  age,  to  gather  flowers  in  the  garden ; 
and  presently  came  running,  terrified,  into  the  hall  to  her 
father,  saying,  “ Oh,  dear  father,  I have  met  myself ! 99  He 
took  her  in  his  arms,  and  told  her  it  was  fancy,  but  she  said, 
“ Oh  no  ! I met  myself  in  the  broad  walk,  and  I was  pale  and 
gathering  withered  flowers,  and  I turned  my  head,  and  held 
them  up  ! 99  And,  that  night,  she  died,  and  a picture  of  her 
story  was  begun,  though  never  finished,  and  they  say  it  is 
somewhere  in  the  house  to  this  day,  with  its  face  to  the  wall. 

Or,  the  uncle  of  my  brother’s  wife  was  riding  home  on  horse- 
back, one  mellow  evening  at  sunset,  when,  in  a green  lane  close 
to  his  own  house,  he  saw  a man  standing  before  him,  in  the 


A CHRISTMAS  TREK 


461 


very  centre  of  the  narrow  way.  “ Why  does  that  man  in  the 
cloak  stand  there  ? ” he  thought.  “ Does  he  want  me  to  ride 
over  him  ? ” But  the  figure  never  moved.  He  felt  a strange 
sensation  at  seeing  it  so  still,  but  slackened  his  trot  and  rode 
forward.  When  he  was  so  close  to  it,  as  almost  to  touch  it 
with  his  stirrup,  his  horse  shied,  and  the  figure  glided  up  the 
bank,  in  a curious,  unearthly  manner  — backward,  and  without 
seeming  to  use  its  feet  — and  was  gone.  The  uncle  of  my 
brother’s  wife,  exclaiming,  “ Good  Heaven ! It’s  my  cousin 
Harry,  from  Bombay ! ” put  spurs  to  his  horse,  which  was 
suddenly  in  a profuse  sweat,  and,  wondering  at  such  strange 
behavior,  dashed  round  to  the  front  of  his  house.  There,  he 
saw  the  same  figure,  just  passing  in  at  the  long  French  window 
of  the  drawing-room,  opening  on  the  ground.  He  threw  his 
bridle  to  a servant,  and  hastened  in  after  it.  His  sister  was 
sitting  there,  alone.  “Alice,  where’s  my  cousin  Harry?” 
“ Your  cousin  Harry,  John  ? ” “Yes.  From  Bombay.  I met 
him  in  the  lane  just  now,  and  saw  him  enter  here,  this  instant.” 
Hot  a creature  had  been  seen  by  any  one  ; and  in  that  hour 
and  minute,  as  it  afterwards  appeared,  this  cousin  died  in 
India. 

Or,  it  was  a certain  sensible  old  maiden  lady,  who  died  at 
ninety-nine,  and  retained  her  faculties  to  the  last,  who  really 
did  see  the  Orphan  Boy ; a story  which  has  often  been  incor- 
rectly told,  but  of  which  the  real  truth  is  this  — because  it  is, 
in  fact,  a story  belonging  to  our  family  — and  she  was  a con- 
nection of  our  family.  When  she  was  about  forty  years  of  age, 
and  still  an  uncommonly  fine  woman  (her  lover  died  young, 
which  was  the  reason  why  she  never  married,  though  she  had 
many  offers),  she  went  to  stay  at  a place  in  Kent,  which  her 
brother,  an  Indian-Merchant,  had  newly  bought.  There  was  a 
story  that  this  place  had  once  been  held  in  trust,  by  the  guar- 
dian of  a young  boy  ; who  was  himself  the  next  heir,  and  who 
killed  the  young  boy  by  harsh  and  cruel  treatment.  She 
knew  nothing  of  that.  It  has  been  said  that  there  was  a Cage 
in  her  bed-room  in  which  the  guardian  used  to  put  the  boy. 
There  was  no  such  thing.  There  was  only  a closet.  She 
went  to  bed,  made  no  alarm  whatever  in  the  night,  and.  in  the 
morning  said  composedly  to  her  maid  when  she  came  in, 


462 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


“ Who  is  the  pretty,  forlorn-looking  child  who  has  been  peep- 
ing out  of  that  closet  all  night  ? ” The  maid  replied  by  giv- 
ing a loud  scream,  and  instantly  decamping.  She  was  sur- 
prised ; but,  she  was  a woman  of  remarkable  strength  of  mind, 
and  she  dressed  herself  and  went  down  stairs,  and  closeted  her- 
self with  her  brother.  “ Now,  Walter,”  she  said,  “I  have  been 
disturbed  all  night  by  a pretty,  forlorn-looking  boy,  who  has 
been  constantly  peeping  out  of  that  closet  in  my  room,  which 
I can’t  open.  This  is  some  trick.”  “ I am  afraid  not,  Char- 
lotte,” said  he,  “ for  it  is  the  legend  of  the  house.  It  is  the 
Orphan  Boy.  What  did  he  do  ? ” “ He  opened  the  door 

softly,”  said  she,  and  peeped  out.  Sometimes,  he  came  a step 
or  two  into  the  room.  Then,  I called  to  him,  to  encourage 
him,  and  he  shrunk,  and  shuddered,  and  crept  in  again,  and 
shut  the  door.”  “The  closet  has  no  communication,  Char- 
lotte,” said  her  brother,  “ with  any  other  part  of  the  house, 
and  it’s  nailed  up.”  This  was  undeniably  true,  and  it  took 
two  carpenters  a whole  forenoon  to  get  it  open,  for  examination. 
Then,  she  was  satisfied  that  she  had  seen  the  Orphan  Boy. 
But,  the  wild  and  terrible  part  of  the  story  is,  that  he  was 
also  seen  by  three  of  her  brother’s  sons,  in  succession,  who  all 
died  young.  On  the  occasion  of  each  child  being  taken  ill,  he 
came  home  in  a heat,  twelve  hours  before,  and  said,  Oh, 
Mamma,  he  had  been  playing  under  a particular  oak  tree,  in 
a certain  meadow,  with  a strange  boy  — a pretty,  forlorn-look- 
ing boy,  who  was  very  timid,  and  made  signs ! From  fatal 
experience,  the  parents  came  to  know  that  this  was  the  Orphan 
Boy,  and  that  the  course  of  that  child  whom  he  chose  for  his 
playmate  was  surely  run. 

Legion  is  the  name  of  the  German  castles,  where  we  sit  up 
alone  to  wait  for  the  Spectre  — where  we  are  shown  into  a 
room,  made  comparatively  cheerful  for  our  reception  — where 
we  glance  round  at  the  shadows,  thrown  on  the  blank  walls 
by  the  crackling  fire  — where  we  feel  very  lonely  when  the 
village  innkeeper  and  his  pretty  daughter  have  retired,  after 
laying  down  a fresh  store  of  wood  upon  the  hearth,  and  set- 
ting forth  on  the  small  table  such  supper-cheer  as  a cold  roast 
capon,  bread,  grapes,  and  a flask  of  old  Rhine  wine  — where 
the  reverberating  doors  close  on  their  retreat,  one  after  another, 


A CHRISTMAS  TREE . 


468 


like  so  many  peals  of  sullen  thunder  — and  where,  about  the 
small  hours  of  the  night,  we  come  into  the  knowledge  of  divers 
supernatural  mysteries.  Legion  is  the  name  of  the  haunted 
German  students,  in  whose  society  we  draw  yet  nearer  to  the 
fire,  while  the  schoolboy  in  the  corner  opens  his  eyes  wide  and 
round,  and  flies  off  the  footstool  he  has  chosen  for  his  seat, 
when  the  door  accidentally  blows  open.  Yast  is  the  crop  of 
such  fruit,  shining  on  our  Christmas  Tree ; in  blossom,  almost 
at  the  very  top ; ripening  all  down  the  boughs  ! 

Among  the  later  toys  and  fancies  hanging  there  — as  idle 
often  and  less  pure  — be  the  images  once  associated  with  the 
sweet  old  Waits,  the  softened  music  in  the  night,  ever  un- 
alterable ! Encircled  by  the  social  thoughts  of  Christmas 
time,  still  let  the  benignant  figure  of  my  childhood  stand  un- 
changed ! In  every  cheerful  image  and  suggestion  that  the 
season  brings,  may  the  bright  star  that  rested  above  the  poor 
roof,  be  the  star  of  all  the  Christian  world ! A moment’s 
pause,  0 vanishing  tree,  of  which  the  lower  boughs  are  dark 
to  me  as  yet,  and  let  me  look  once  more ! I know  there  are 
blank  spaces  on  thy  branches,  where  eyes  that  I have  loved, 
have  shone  and  smiled ; from  which  they  are  departed.  But, 
far  above,  I see  the  raiser  of  the  dead  girl,  and  the  Widow’s 
Son ; and  God  is  good ! If  Age  be  hiding  for  me  in  the  un- 
seen portion  of  thy  downward  growth,  0 may  I,  with  a gray 
head,  turn  a child’s  heart  to  that  figure  yet,  and  a child’s 
trustfulness  and  confidence ! 

Now,  the  tree  is  decorated  with  bright  merriment,  and  song, 
and  dance,  and  cheerfulness.  And  they  are  welcome.  Inno- 
cent and  welcome  be  they  ever  held,  beneath  the  branches  of 
the  Christmas  Tree,  which  cast  no  gloomy  shadow ! But,  as  it 
sinks  into  the  ground,  I hear  a whisper  going  through  the 
leaves.  “This,  in  commemoration  of  the  law  of  love  and 
kindness,  mercy  and  compassion.  This,  in  remembrance  of 
Me!” 


THE  END. 


